From the Rose, Comes the Thorn
by Calliopiea
Summary: The sequel to "Bound" (Harry Potter/ Tom Riddle slash)
1. Momentary Pause

From the Rose, Comes the Thorn  
  
The Sequel to Bound  
  
By Alicia Flint  
  
(Harry/ Tom Riddle Slash)  
  
Disclaimer: Alas, still not mine . . .  
  
Dedicated to ThreeOranges: I'm moving to Bath to live up to your expectations . . .  
  
Chapter One -- Momentary Pause  
  
1978  
  
It was a crisp winter evening. The full moon reflected onto the snowy hills surrounding Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The glittering light momentarily blinded Lucius Malfoy who was hurrying across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest, his black robe billowing out behind him. At last, he reached his destination. It was an old tree -- Twisted and jagged. His companion for the evening had not yet arrived. "Perfect," Lucius smiled to himself. He quickly shed his robe and spread it on the ground. He lusciously sprawled out on the carpet of velvet, thinking about the sordid acts that would take place tonight. He moaned quietly in anticipation.  
  
"You never will learn patience, will you?"  
  
Lucius gasped and sat bolt upright to see a man in his early fifties standing a short distance away. He was an elegant man -- Beautiful and statuesque, given poise and grace with age. He conducted himself in a manner befitting his station . . . Which was more than could be said for the young Malfoy sitting before him. Lucius Malfoy didn't have that natural aura of dignity that surrounded the man standing before him. Lucius had little more than his looks and his ambition.  
  
But his looks were what had gotten him here -- On this blanket, under this tree.  
  
The silvery blonde hair falling tumultuously over his eyes, the pert lips tailored for kissing, the lithe body spread out for the taking . . . That was what had ensured him his place in the Inner Circle.  
  
"Thought you'd never come, Tom," Lucius said, his voice breathy.  
  
"What have I told you about calling me Tom?" the man scolded, approaching the boy lying on the cloak.  
  
"My apologies . . . sir," Lucius said, thrusting his pelvis up at the title.  
  
"You wanton little whore," Tom said distastefully. "I should leave you here suffering in the agony you've worked yourself into."  
  
"Don't do that," Lucius smiled coyly, glancing down at his prominent erection. "Please, sir. I'm absolutely begging you."  
  
"That seems your style, Lucius," Tom scoffed. "Beg like the insipid little lapdog you are." Tom sat down on the cloak next to Lucius who automatically spread his legs like a well-trained puppy. "You know there are some reasons that I absolutely can't stand you Lucius," Tom looked at the libertine blonde beside him. "All I have to do is snap my fingers and you'll obey my every command. You have no self-respect, no integrity. You'll hopelessly degrade yourself if you think it will advance your place in the world by any means. Why, look at you now! The subservient slut! For God's sake Lucius, put your legs together and act modestly for once."  
  
Shocked and disappointed, Lucius sat up next to Tom, his erection pressing uncomfortably against his robes.  
  
"It's not that I don't enjoy the . . . pleasures . . ." Tom gently let a finger drift across Lucius' cheek. Lucius eagerly arched up into the touch. "That you provide me. You are quite the talent in bed, I assure you. But other than that positive trait, I find absolutely no redeeming value to you, Lucius Malfoy. I will keep you in my Inner Circle, as a Death Eater, because you are one of the few you can satisfy me . . . personally. But remember this always: I could never love someone who would give in so easily to my advances. I could never love anyone who would degrade themselves so low for their own professional benefit. Thus we can conclude, my dear Lucius, that I could never, ever love you."  
  
"There's someone else then," Lucius said quietly, trying to hide any hurt and resentment he might feel.  
  
"Of course there's someone else," Tom snapped. "Why would you ever think that there isn't?"  
  
"Who?" Lucius asked, curious. The only response he received was a sharp stinging across his left cheek.  
  
"That is my business. Not yours. Although, there is a certain classmate of your whom I have been most interested in as of late . . ."  
  
Lucius leaned forward in anticipation. Tom grabbed the boy by the waist and pulled him up onto his lap.  
  
"Ask your friend Severus if he's interested in joining the Death Eaters, won't you Lucius?" It was a command more than a question. Lucius immediately made his feelings on the subject known though.  
  
"You can not . . . You would honestly choose Severus over me?" Lucius asked, biting hard into the words. "How could you? Severus is . . . well . . . He's absolutely hideous! He's all greasy and scummy and his teeth and yellow and he's just so . . ."  
  
"Silence, you insolent brat!" Tom shouted, slapping Lucius once again. "I assure you. I do not want that boy for physical gratification. I admit that even the thought of bedding Severus Snape makes me ill. As you have so prominently noted, his physical traits are lacking . . . And that is putting the matter mildly. He's a horrid little thing. But he's talented and brilliant . . . He's the ideal Death Eater." Tom smiled at the thought of the young Severus Snape joining his ranks.  
  
"Oh, wonderful!" Lucius said, with a certain degree of joy. "I thought for a moment that Snape was the one you'd fallen in love with! I don't know what I would have done then!"  
  
"You would have come to terms with it and accepted your failure," Tom said simply. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to see my . . . darling. Alleviate yourself and go back up to your quarters. I don't wish to see anything more of you tonight, my Lucius."  
  
Lucius sighed. "Wouldn't you just . . ."  
  
"Now Lucius," Tom snapped, turning his back on the young boy and heading towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He heard the sound of robes being unbuttoned behind him and smiled at the thought of his golden boy -- His Lucius.  
  
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Tom carefully entered the school, examining the shadows of the staircase standing before him to make sure that no one was watching. "The walls have eyes," Tom thought, glancing up at the portraits on the staircase that were all sleeping soundly. He couldn't be seen at Hogwarts or Dumbledore would be after him immediately. He was taking a great risk coming here in the first place, entering his old Alma Matter. But, in the name of love, irrational deed are done . . .  
  
"Did anyone see you?" a voice hissed from out of the shadows.  
  
"No one," Tom responded.  
  
"Are you sure about that?"  
  
"Absolutely," Tom confirmed.  
  
A figure emerged from the shadows -- Tall, thin, garbed completely in black. This was Eve and Delilah and Jezebel all combined into one being. This was his temptation and, in an odd way, his salvation. The figure swept over to him.  
  
"Tell me why I shouldn't hand you over to Dumbledore right now," the boy growled threateningly.  
  
"Because then you wouldn't be able to indulge in the pleasure of my company, you horrid brat," Tom laughed.  
  
A finger played over his lips.  
  
"Silence!" the figure whispered. "Do you want to wake the entire school? Tell me once again what you offer me."  
  
Tom smiled, grabbing the figure around the waist and pulling him close, entwining their limbs.  
  
"I offer you power beyond your wildest dreams. I offer you Light and Dark merged into one beautiful being. I offer you every possession you could ever dream of. I offer you my one gift of love . . ."  
  
"Yes," the figure purred, pressing his lips to Tom's. "That is what I ask of you."  
  
The figure untied his robe, letting the hood drop back to reveal his face. Tom could barely see him in the dim candlelight.  
  
"You are the only one," Tom said softly. "The only one who shall ever receive my one gift of love. Use it -- Use me -- wisely, my darling."  
  
"I will. I solemnly promise you."  
  
"Good," Tom smiled. "Now take me to your chambers . . ." 


	2. For the Love of James

Author's Note: Sorry Chapter Two took so long but I wrote Chapter Three before Chapter Two for some reason -- I think I'll let you all wait until this weekend until I reveal my Chapter Three to you though . . .  
  
Chapter Two -- For the Love of James  
  
1978  
  
"James! James, get up!"  
  
Sirius Black bolted up the stairs, kicking piles of clothing out of his way as he entered the room. James Potter groaned and struggled to sit up in his bed. Sirius' eyes widened at the sight of his friend.  
  
"Fuck, what happened to you last night?"  
  
"Huh? Oh . . . nothing."  
  
"That doesn't look like 'nothing,' James."  
  
"God, I didn't fall asleep in my glasses!" James sighed, pulling the bent silver frames off of his face and examining them closely. "I can't see a thing without them . . ."  
  
Sirius wasn't paying attention to the glasses so much though. James Potter was only partially covered by the scarlet covers -- And Sirius could plainly see that his friend was completely naked. Teeth marks ran up and down his neck and chest -- The small nips of an insatiable lover. His lips were bruised from feral kisses. Violet-tinged circles drooped under his eyes and his hair was mussed in all directions.  
  
"Well, someone obviously had fun last night," Sirius said, smiling mischievously. "C'mon James. Who was the lucky lady? Whoever she was, she was a bit less than passive and a bit more than aggressive."  
  
"Huh?" James looked clearly bewildered.  
  
"Don't 'huh' me, James Potter," Sirius scolded, sitting down on the bed next to James, trying to ignore the vast expanse of flesh next to him. "You've been officially marked." Sirius teased one of the bite marks and James cringed. "So . . . Who is she, Jamie? Aren't you going to tell me?"  
  
"Um . . ." James blushed brilliantly which made Sirius laugh -- A loud, bawdy laugh (Decisively immature). He rose from the bed, picking up a day robe from the floor and tossing it at James.  
  
"Well, if the name comes to mind, tell me . . . Or better yet, send her my way sometime. Looks like she can do quite a number on a guy." Sirius winked to get his full meaning across. "Now hurry up and get dressed or else we'll be late for Charms and you know how much Flitwick hates it when we're late."  
  
"Coming," James sighed, pressing his face into the pillow and wishing for a few moments more of peaceful slumber.  
  
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James Potter was dozing off . . . and it was only half way through the school day.  
  
His head resting on the Transfiguration textbook, James wearily tried to pay attention to the lesson: Rings . . . Turning into snakes . . . Only at certain times . . . Make sure you remember the long vowels in the incantations . . . James smiled contently thinking of last night and allowed his eyes to drift shut. He was just about to drift off to a better place when a quill grazed his ear. James bolted up and looked behind him, startled.  
  
"Falling asleep, Potter?"  
  
"Yes," James said bitterly, turning around to face the cold eyes and the arrogant sneer. "And I might be able to get my mandatory eight hours in, if you would leave me alone."  
  
"Is he bothering you, James?" Sirius asked, glaring at Severus. Severus and James both seemed mildly shocked that Sirius was taking an active role in their conversational banter. Severus didn't let it phase him for long though -- He continued on with the line of questioning.  
  
"Where were you last night?" Severus smirked, looking James up and down. He smiled tartly. "It looks like you were enjoying some fine . . . recreational activities. May I ask who your partner was?"  
  
James blushed brightly, lowering his eyes demurely.  
  
"Fuck off Severus," Sirius growled. "Why don't you go crawling back into the dungeons where you belong?"  
  
"But this is so much more amusing," Severus declared, leaning forward eagerly. "What could I do in the dungeons anyway?"  
  
"Take a shower?" Sirius suggested.  
  
Severus hissed at the young Gryffindor and recoiled back into his seat. James' eyes narrowed at his adversary and his nose wrinkled slightly in disgust.  
  
"I know," Sirius smiled. "He's absolutely repulsive."  
  
"No wonder he doesn't have a girlfriend yet," James whispered to his best friend. "His hair looks like an oil slick or something."  
  
"I know! Could you ever imagine anyone going to bed with him?" Sirius snorted, glancing behind him at the scowling Severus Snape. "He's a . . . God, I can't even find a word to describe that!"  
  
"Deformity?" James offered. He looked back at Severus who was paying attention to the conversation -- very closely. The guise of indifference was practically chiseled onto his face. How many words of abuse had been spat at the boy? How many times had Severus Snape been tripped while walking down the hall? How many times had the words "revile," "hate," "loathe," and "abhor" been used in conjunction with his name?  
  
James quickly turned his eyes back to his work -- Transfigurations. Snakes . . . Turning into rings . . . Yes, at certain times . . . Watch the vowels . . .  
  
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"Lullaby, twilight is spreading Silver wings o'er the sky . . ."  
  
James softly sang to himself, plucking petals from a rose that sat on his bedside table accompanied by a note:  
  
James --  
  
Meet me in the astronomy tower at two o'clock tomorrow morning. Please do not come any earlier as I shall be occupied in other affairs. Thank you for your understanding.  
  
-- Yours  
  
James' eyebrows knitted together at the mention of "other affairs" -- Other affairs as in business matters or other affairs as in sexual liaisons? James felt a quick pang of jealously shoot through him. Could his lover be seeing someone else? That Lucius Malfoy, perhaps. James was always hearing about Lucius -- What Lucius had done, how talented Lucius was, how beautiful Lucius was . . .  
  
"If you like Lucius so much, why are you spending your evenings with me instead of him?" James snapped to the empty room. The young Gryffindor fell back against a slew of overstuffed pillows. Lucius was a hard bit of competition -- All platinum, silver, and ivory that glistened and shimmered. "So," James grimaced. "I'm Chaser for the Quidditch Team. I'm the most popular boy in school. I'm . . . still not as good looking as Lucius Malfoy," James sighed to himself. "Hard bit of competition? Try impossible."  
  
James went back to picking at the petals of the rose -- Staining his fingers light crimson with the juices.  
  
"Fairy elves are softly treading, Folding buds as they pass by . . ."  
  
"If I could just fall in love with someone nice and normal," James thought to himself. It was a bittersweet desire. "Yes, someone nice like that Lilly Evans girl. She seems nice enough. She's pretty too . . . and smart . . . Why can't you fall in love with a girl like that?" James knew the answer before he even asked the question -- "Because you're already in love with someone." James Potter was in love with someone who was harsh, cruel, and, yes, male. That's why he couldn't fall in love with a nice, normal someone like Lilly Evans.  
  
"Lullaby, whisper and sigh, Lullaby, Lullaby . . ."  
  
James put the rose down on the table and hopped up from the bed. It was almost one o'clock and he wasn't even dressed yet for the eventful evening that stretched out before him. 


	3. Impossible

Chapter Three -- Impossible  
  
1996  
  
Harry's jaw hung slack, his pupils dilated in shock. Tom had been recounting the events of an evening back in 1978 and . . .  
  
"That's impossible!" Harry whispered. "There's absolutely no way . . ." Spring green eyes darted up, staring skeptically into crimson. "I can't believe it. My father would have never . . ." Pause as Harry tried to get the words out. "Slept with you."  
  
Tom looked at Harry for a moment, completely puzzled. Then, without warning, he burst into peals of uncontrolled laughter. Harry kneaded his hands into the coverlet, fuming with anger, his face turning a florid shade. "How dare he laugh at a time like this!" Harry thought to himself. "How dare he!" Tom's hysterical laughing fit eventually subsided and he sat there, smiling at Harry with a look that screamed "You silly, silly child."  
  
"I assure you, Harry," Tom said. "I never, ever slept with your father."  
  
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, contemplatively. If that figure in black wasn't his father . . . Who was it and what did this entire thing have to do with his family?  
  
"I see where you thought this was going," Tom grinned. "You thought that the story would play out something like this, didn't you. I fell desperately in love with" -- Another guffaw -- "James Potter and, when he married Lily, I became insanely jealous and vowed vengeance on his entire family." Harry nodded. "I'll grant you this," Tom continued. "The root of all evil stems from one thing: Greed. You know this?" Harry nodded again. "And what stems from greed?" Tom asked. "Well, there's the greed for power, which can lead to corruption. There's the greed for sexual fulfillment, which can lead to lust. There's the greed for complete control over another, which can lead to . . ."  
  
"Jealousy" Harry said, filling in the blank.  
  
Tom smiled approvingly. "Yes, jealousy. I'm a particular victim of this vice. This story, what happened to your parents, it's all due to extreme jealousy."  
  
"But who was the figure in black?" Harry asked, irritated and confused. "I was almost positive that it was my father . . ."  
  
"And here I thought I'd made it obvious," Tom sighed. "You must be reading too deeply into my words. Take them all at surface value, Harry. That's all they'll ever be worth." Harry still looked perplexed. "Harry, when you went to elementary school, did you ever . . . I don't know," he smiled. "It's been so long. Did you ever pull a girl's hair when the two of you were in public but then pick roses for her out in the backyard in private?"  
  
"No," Harry said firmly. "I would never do anything like that . . . But I know plenty of people who would." Harry's thoughts momentarily shifted to Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Then you know what I'm talking about."  
  
Harry paused for a moment, deep in thought.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"Ask your friend Severus if he's interested in joining the Death Eaters, won't you Lucius?" It was a command more than a question. Lucius immediately made his feelings on the subject known though.  
"You can not . . . You would honestly choose Severus over me?" Lucius asked, biting hard into the words. "How could you? Severus is . . . well . . . He's absolutely hideous! He's all greasy and scummy and his teeth and yellow and he's just so . . ."  
"Silence, you insolent brat!" Tom shouted, slapping Lucius once again. "I assure you. I do not want that boy for physical gratification. I admit that even the thought of bedding Severus Snape makes me ill. As you have so prominently noted, his physical traits are lacking . . . And that is putting the matter mildly. He's a horrid little thing. But he's talented and brilliant . . . He's the ideal Death Eater." Tom smiled at the thought of the young Severus Snape joining his ranks.  
"Oh, wonderful!" Lucius said, with a certain degree of joy. "I thought for a moment that Snape was the one you'd fallen in love with! I don't know what I would have done then!"  
"You would have come to terms with it and accepted your failure," Tom said simply. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to see my . . . darling. Alleviate yourself and go back up to your quarters. I don't wish to see anything more of you tonight, my Lucius."  
  
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Then all of a sudden, it came to him. Harry's eyes lit up with comprehension but that brightness was soon replaced by a smoggy disgust.  
  
"You . . . But you said . . . How could you ever do anything like that?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. "I mean . . . Professor Snape?"  
  
Tom stifled his laughter. "Quite easily, actually. He had . . . everything." Then Tom added as a side note, "Albeit looks, of course. He was intellectual and talented and ambitious and determined and confident and . . . Well, seductive but you don't really need to hear about that, do you."  
  
"God no!" Harry exclaimed, sticking out his tongue at the thought. "Sometimes," Tom thought with a half-smile. "Sometimes I swear that child is no older that five."  
  
"He was perfection in its purest form," Tom said nostalgically. "He was everything I could ever want and the first man I ever pledged my undying devotion and adoration to."  
  
"Oh so there were others," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"I told you already that jealousy isn't a becoming trait," Tom admonished.  
  
"So what does any of this have to do with my parents?" Harry quipped. "As much as I absolutely adore hearing about your sexual exploits, I thought that this story would have some point. Well, some point other than to make me nauseous . . . And who was my father spending the night with if it wasn't you?"  
  
"Patience is a virtue . . ."  
  
"That I do not possess," Harry said quickly.  
  
Tom tried putting an arm around the young boy but Harry quickly shoved him off, moving hastily to the side.  
  
"Everything's still not clear between the two of us," Harry replied tersely.  
  
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Severus Snape sat in his chambers, running a brush through his hair, pulling at the tangles and mats that had accumulated during the week. The portrait above the mirror looked down on him skeptically -- The young man yanking desperately at the rat's nest on the back of his head.  
  
"You know, my dear," the portrait said softly. "If you'd brush your hair every day, you wouldn't have these problems . . ."  
  
Severus scowled up at the portrait but continued struggling with the knots of greasy black. The portrait silently appraised him. "You're certainly lacking in appearances, aren't you?" she whispered under her breath, making sure that he couldn't hear her. The pale, sallow skin made him look sickly -- possibly anemic. The yellow teeth hadn't been brushed in god knows how long. The hooked nose jutted out like a peninsula off of the mainland. Yes, his features were awkward at best. The eyes weren't bad . . . Not exceptional but certainly not bad.  
  
"Look on the bright side, dear," the portrait said, trying to be cheerful. "At least with all that oil, you don't look a day over twenty!"  
  
"Shut up, won't you?" Severus glowered, easing that last clump out of his hair slowly. The dull strands hung limply down to his shoulders. "Better," Severus remarked. "It will do. I have more important things to think about at the moment . . ."  
  
"Of course," the portrait sighed quietly. "Always something more important than hygiene. I swear, of all of the rooms in Hogwarts, I get hung in this one . . ."  
  
Severus walked over to the desk next to his bed, pulling some parchment out of one of the drawers. He was about to begin writing up that surprise potions test that he had planned for the next day when a picture on the mantel caught his eye.  
  
The portrait had an aura of dignity surrounding it -- Two men, seated in a parlor, looking enamoured with each other but trying to hide it for posterity's sake. Both of them clad in solemn black, though one was far more attractive than the other. The older man quickly reached out and ran a finger along his companion's cheekbone. The younger boy looked away modestly but blushed brilliantly -- Rose against white.  
  
"Stop being so sentimental," Severus scolded, turning the picture around so that he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.  
  
"Something you're hiding?" the portrait asked, curious.  
  
"Stay out of it," Severus hissed, returning to his work.  
  
Author's Note: I cannot tell you all how much I relished in all of the reviewers who assumed that James Potter was the one who was sleeping with Tom! Do you really think I'd be that predictable? Anyway, this story has actually been extremely well constructed (Huzzah me) and everything -- Everything -- will tie together very soon with much slash to come including a few more tumultuous plot twists for your reading pleasure. You can also put two and two together now and take one good guess at who James Potter is sleeping with (This one isn't challenging at all -- I promise you). 


	4. In the Shadows

Author's Note: Sorry that I have to sacrifice my unpredictability in this chapter and be utterly predictable . . . Trust me though, this is a necessary plot point (Just trust me! Have I done any of you wrong so far?)  
  
Author's Note II: Dedicated to Bosch -- For reminding my forgetful spirit to "Britishize!" *Smiles sheepishly*  
  
Chapter Four -- In the Shadows  
  
1978  
  
"Are you seeing someone else?" was the first question James asked upon arriving to the Astronomy Tower. "Because I'll understand if you just want me to leave you alone. A Gryffindor really shouldn't be seeing a Slytherin anyway and my friends really wouldn't approve and if you just want me to go . . ."  
  
"Just be quiet," Severus groaned, leaning against the wall. "I'm not seeing anyone else and you're not going to leave because I want you to stay."  
  
"Good," James smiled. "Because I wouldn't have gone anyway."  
  
"I know you wouldn't have, you insolent thing," Severus said, pulling James against him, threading his arms around his waist. "James," he murmured, nuzzling the unruly black hair. "James, would you ever consider staying with me after school ends?"  
  
It took James a while to understand what Severus was asking but, when it finally dawned on him, he pulled away slightly from Severus, taken aback.  
  
"I . . . You're asking me to date you?" James asked quizzically. "Like formally date you? As in . . . You and me, walking around Hogsmeade, holding hands and buying joint Christmas cards?"  
  
"Not the joint Christmas cards," Severus laughed, "But we could buy a small place just outside of town and you could go and be a professional Quidditch player or whatever it is you want to do and I could . . . I don't know. It was probably a foolish idea anyway."  
  
"Yeah," James muttered, preoccupied. "Probably was."  
  
"So . . . Do you want to go back to your chambers or are we going to continue with this rendezvous?"  
  
"I don't think so," James said suddenly. "I'm not really in the mood tonight."  
  
"Oh," Severus said, startled. "Is that my fault?"  
  
"Yes," James sighed. "I suppose it is. I just need some time to think about where this whole thing is going."  
  
"Worried about your friends?" Severus snapped. "Worried that they won't . . . approve of our little liaison?"  
  
"A little," James admitted.  
  
"Can't you think for yourself for once?" Severus asked, exasperated.  
  
"Why would you want me to stay with you anyway?" James huffed, sitting down on a nearby stool. "According to you, I'm an insufferable brat who's never been good at anything except mounting a broomstick, take that last phrase however you want to. I can't even remember the last time we had a conversation without bickering. I love you and you know that I do but I'm not so sure I want to spend a good portion of my life with you."  
  
"That sounds like love," Severus muttered in his usual cynical tone.  
  
"Honestly Severus," James sighed. "Why would you want me?"  
  
"Because I don't like being alone," Severus said tersely.  
  
"You wouldn't be alone Sev," James said, somewhat coddling the Slytherin. "You have friends, don't you?"  
  
"Just consider the option, James. Please?"  
  
"Of course Sev," James smiled. "I always consider my options."  
  
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1996  
  
"Oh my god," Harry said under his breath. "Oh my god, that is the singular most disgusting thing I have ever heard in my life! Do you actually expect me to believe that my dad was sleeping with Professor Snape? That's just . . . wrong!"  
  
"Choose to believe it . . . or don't," Tom said casually, leaning against the head of the bed. "It's of no consequence to me. I'm just repeating the story."  
  
"But my dad hated Professor Snape! They couldn't stand each other!"  
  
"Love knows no bounds," Tom sighed with a bit of nostalgia.  
  
"So what made my dad choose Lily over Severus?" Harry asked and then he rethought the question. "Actually, forget that I asked that. Any person with half a mind would choose my mom over Snape."  
  
"Your dad almost said yes," Tom reflected. "And that's where the story starts getting complicated."  
  
"Isn't it all complicated enough already?"  
  
"You're the one who asked to hear about this," Tom said, chastising the young Gryffindor.  
  
"I was angry with you," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was frustrated and angry with you. I didn't want my family to go from being a clean-cut 'Home and Country' model to being something off of 'Eastenders,' okay?"  
  
"I'm just telling you what happened," Tom sniffed. "Nothing more and nothing less."  
  
"It's getting late," Harry said, glancing at the clock next to his bed. "Maybe we should try and get some sleep . . ."  
  
"So am I going to be staying on the couch tonight or are you going to let me stay on the bed?"  
  
"The couch," Harry said. "Most definitely the couch."  
  
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"When the dragons grow too mighty  
  
To slay with pen or sword,  
  
I grow weary of the battle  
  
And the storm I walk toward."  
  
Severus Snape softly repeated the Madrigal, remembering a long time ago when those words had rung clearly from the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Yes, it seemed like such a long time ago . . . Tom's cloak flung out on the ground -- serving as a picnic blanket. The two of them playing with puffball mushrooms that grew sporadically among the piles of moss, Severus singing 16th century Madrigals like some dark canary, Tom leaning over from time to time to steal a kiss . . . Yes, such a long time ago.  
  
"When all around is madness  
  
And there's no safe port in view,  
  
I long to turn my path homeward  
  
To stop awhile with you."  
  
Overall, Severus found the entire thing to be very ironic. How was it that the "greasy potions master" had held two men in the palm of his hand at the same time? And James Potter, the Gryffindor Demigod at that! And then to have possessed Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort . . . Severus gingerly rolled the sleeve of his robe up to examine the Dark Mark on his arm. What had been the rampant desire, the attraction? Severus glanced at his reflection in the mirror and fleetingly wondered how Tom bore to look at him. Not to mention James . . .  
  
"When life becomes so barren  
  
And as cold as winter skies,  
  
There's a beacon in the darkness  
  
In a distant pair of eyes."  
  
Severus leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes to the world and refusing to have anything more to do with thoughts of James Potter. But the memories still kept flooding his mind, no matter how hard he tried blocking them out. Spending late nights working on charms homework together, laughing about the constant bickering between Malfoy and Black, sharing hopes and dreams and fantasies . . . And then there had been Tom Riddle. A quick waltz in the Great Hall when they were sure everyone had gone to sleep, a midnight swim in the nearby lake -- Severus self-consciously hiding his body in the shadows, a walk around the school grounds, staring up at the crescent moon . . . And they had both loved him.  
  
"In vain to search for order,  
  
In vain to search for truth,  
  
But these things can still be given.  
  
Our love has shown me proof."  
  
Author's Note: And Sirius makes his first appearance in the next chapter . . . 


	5. Pristine Condition

Chapter Five -- Pristine Condition  
  
1996  
  
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, occasionally glancing over at Tom who had taken up residence next to Severus Snape. Severus kept his eyes locked on the fruit platter, never looking up at the Heir of Slytherin. "You'd never guess that they'd been together," Harry thought to himself fleetingly. Severus tended to be stiff around Tom Riddle -- Cordial enough so that his Lord and Master wouldn't become annoyed with him yet indifferent enough to leave Tom cold. They made a fairly attractive couple, Harry thought to himself, absently twirling his fork around in a heap of mashed potatoes -- The chilled Potions Master and the haughty Dark Lord. He was surprised when he didn't feel the expected pang of jealously.  
  
"Would you pass the soup, Parvati?" Harry asked, prying his eyes away from Tom for a second. Parvati flinched when he called her name and quickly shoved the bowl down to Harry's end of the table. "Lavender, would you mind passing the water?" A rock-hard stare and the jug of water found itself in Harry's lap. The young Gryffindor bolted up from his seat, looking at the damp spot in his lap. The entire Slytherin house burst into peals of laughter.  
  
"What's your problem, Lavender?" Harry asked, close to losing his temper.  
  
Lavender shrugged meekly and went back to her dinner. Harry would have probably interrogated her further if he hadn't felt something rubbing against the side of his leg. Glancing down, he saw the familiar black dog staring up at him.  
  
"Hey boy," Harry said, bending down and scratching the dog's ears. "How are you doing?"  
  
The dog whimpered a little and licked Harry's hand. Harry sat back down at the dinner table and the canine curled up in a ball at his feet. Harry proceeded to feed the dog about five servings throughout the dinner, attracting quite a bit of attention from the other students at the table.  
  
"I think it's time we left, boy," Harry smiled, patting the dog on the head. Harry got to his feet and left the Great Hall, Padfoot fast on his heels.  
  
The moment they were safely concealed in Harry's chambers, Padfoot transformed, leaving a tattered and ragged Sirius in his place. The convict automatically drew his godson into a tight embrace.  
  
"Hey," Sirius laughed, nuzzling into Harry's muss of hair. "Miss me?"  
  
"Did I ever!" Harry beamed. "You've been away too long! You should have written me."  
  
"I know," Sirius said, flopping down onto Harry's bed . . . the bed.  
  
"Can I get you anything?" Harry asked, nervously picking at a loose thread on his robes. "Coffee? Tea? Anything?"  
  
"No but you can tell me what's wrong," Sirius replied, reading his godson like a book. "By the way, last time I checked up on you, you were still living in the Gryffindor Dorms like all of the other students. What's up with the change of address?"  
  
"Oh nothing really," Harry shrugged. "Just met someone and, well, you know . . ."  
  
"No, I don't," Sirius smiled. "But this sounds pretty interesting." Sirius tapped the bed, signaling for Harry to sit down next to him. "Sit a spell and tell me all about her."  
  
Harry groaned inwardly. "Well, it's funny actually . . ." Harry didn't know where to begin -- Telling Sirius he might be gay, telling Sirius he was bound, or telling Sirius he was bound to the Dark Lord himself . . . Or maybe telling Sirius that he was beginning to have second thoughts on whether Tom Riddle was quite as bad as he made himself out to be.  
  
"Well, it's funny actually. We sort of met by fate . . ." Harry slumped down next to his godfather who was grinning knowingly.  
  
"And things progressed from there," Sirius finished with a devilish arch of his eyebrow. "I know how this kind of story goes."  
  
"Well," Harry said, kneading the duvet with his fists. "It did progress from there but . . ." Harry took a deep breath -- Now or never, Potter. "But . . ."  
  
And this was the choice moment that Tom Riddle decided to come barging into the chambers, a very definite scowl contorting his features.  
  
"Oh that's it!" Harry sighed, falling backwards in defeat. "You're an absolute curse! Can't you just get out of my life for five minutes?"  
  
"Sorry," Tom sneered. "But these are my chambers too. And what the hell do you think I feel when I see you taking off with some huge mutt . . ." A growl from Sirius forced Tom to look at the ruffian. "That explains it then," Tom murmured. "Sirius Black."  
  
"And may I have the pleasure of inquiring . . ." Sirius suddenly faded off into silence, giving Harry a puzzled look. "You two share chambers?"  
  
"Yes, Sirius," Harry sighed. "We share chambers." Harry turned his attention to Tom, rising to his feet. "Now I'd like to talk to my godfather for a moment, if you don't mind."  
  
"I don't see why you can't do that with me here," Tom hissed, sounding dangerously possessive. Harry took in a sharp breath, stiffening.  
  
"Just leave for five minutes."  
  
Tom closed in on Harry, backing him up against one of the bedposts. Harry noticed that Tom's hand was gripping his wand, ready to strike at a moment's notice.  
  
"Try to remember exactly who you're dealing with here, Potter," Tom said, his voice low and threatening. "You can choose to forget at night when you're curled up next to me but don't you ever think that you can command me."  
  
"I wasn't commanding you," Harry sputtered out. "I was just . . ."  
  
"Just think twice before doing it again, Potter. I allow you to treat me as your equal because I realize that I'm bound to you but don't you ever treat me as your inferior, especially in the presence of others."  
  
"So that's what this is all about," Harry thought to himself. "The great Lord Voldemort doesn't want to be belittled in front of Sirius Black."  
  
"Could you please leave us alone for a few minutes?" Harry asked, without looking the Slytherin in the eyes. After a moment of hesitation, Tom nodded and swept out of the room without another word. Harry turned to Sirius whose eyes were filled with a mix of bewilderment, disapproval, and outright rage.  
  
"You room with that . . . thing?" Sirius sniffed. "How can you stand it? He's absolutely horrible!"  
  
"I know," Harry sighed, sitting back down next to Sirius. "That's what I thought too. He's not always like that though. Sometimes he's helpful, other times he's humorous . . . He can even be downright amiable when he wants to be."  
  
"He certainly wasn't showing it," Sirius replied. "Why are you sharing rooms with him? And who is he? A transfer student or something?"  
  
"Not quite," Harry said, returning his attentions to that loose thread. "He's . . . You see . . ." Now or never, Potter. "I think I'm gay."  
  
The silence was absolutely suffocating. Sirius' eyes became like two saucers of coagulated milk and his jaw hung slack. Harry kept fidgeting uncomfortably.  
  
"You think you're gay," Sirius repeated, locking his eyes on the floor. "I mean . . . I just can't believe it . . ." A small sniff from Harry and Sirius looked up, surprised. The boy was beginning to shake with the strain of holding back sobs. "It's no big deal!" Sirius exclaimed, pulling the boy against his chest. "It's no big deal. I just never thought . . . But it doesn't matter, not at all. I tend to swing that way myself sometimes." Harry pulled away quickly, questioning what he'd just heard but the validity of the statement was affirmed by a sharp wink from his godfather. A wide smile broke out over Harry's lips.  
  
"As long as your okay with it," the young boy said, wiping the salt trails from his cheeks. "I was just afraid that you were going to disown me or something."  
  
"Never," Sirius frowned. "There's nothing -- nothing -- that you could say to me that would make me disown you or hate you or anything like that." Sirius rethought that last statement and added: "Unless you told me that you were sleeping with Snape. Then I might have to reconsider." Harry stifled a giggle at the thought.  
  
"So I take it that the walking ball of gloom happens to be your boyfriend," Sirius concluded with some measure of distaste.  
  
"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "It wasn't really up to me though."  
  
"Harry, it's always up to you and . . ."  
  
"No. It wasn't," Harry said firmly. "I'm bound to him."  
  
And Sirius suddenly blanched ten shades paler.  
  
"Bound?" 


	6. Half-Hearted Sigh

Author's Note: Review, Review, Review . . . And I never thought I'd actually write a chapter called "Half-hearted Sigh" . . .  
  
Chapter Six -- Half-hearted Sigh  
  
"You mean bound as in under a binding spell?" Sirius swallowed, staring at his godson.  
  
"Yes," Harry muttered. "So, you see, I had no choice. He's mine, I'm his -- Forever. You try to tell yourself it's not such a bad word -- 'forever.' But it really is. Absolutely horrid word."  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
"I thought I did," Harry said with a half-hearted sigh. "You see, sometimes I'm a bit forgetful . . . I choose to forget, actually. I find it much easier to choose to forget. I forget what he's done. I forget what -- who -- he is."  
  
"Who is he?" Sirius asked, perplexed by Harry's statements.  
  
"Tom Riddle," Harry said softly, not knowing if the name would be familiar to Sirius. Was that a glint of recognition in his godfather's eye? Harry wasn't quite sure so he decided to continue along this path until he hit his dead end.  
  
"Riddle went to school here back in the 1940s . . ."  
  
"Wait a minute," Sirius interrupted, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "That would make him . . . "  
  
"Sixty-nine years old. Glamour spells can work wonders, you know," Harry shrugged, sitting down next to his godfather again. Sirius did not look happy with the idea of his naÃ¯ve godson being bound to someone old enough to be his grandfather.  
  
"He was in Slytherin house," Harry continued.  
  
"This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it," Sirius commented with a sigh of exasperation.  
  
"It's better than that," Harry said, smiling for some odd reason that he couldn't pinpoint. Perhaps it was due to the fact that the entire situation was utterly ridiculous -- positively insane. Whatever the reason, Harry started grinning like an idiot at his godfather who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort."  
  
It took five seconds for the information to sink in and then . . . Sirius burst forth into peals of uncontrollable laughter. He fell across the bed, practically wheezing with the strain of it -- His skeletal chest heaving upwards and then falling back down. Tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Harry just watched him, no longer smiling at all.  
  
"That . . . That was . . . That was a good one Harry," Sirius gasped out when he had calmed down a little. "I admit the boy's a nasty piece of work but no one deserves that kind of a label."  
  
"I'm not joking," Harry said stoically. "I'm serious. Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort. I'm bound to Lord Voldemort. Look at me." Sirius turned his head to look into his godson's eyes. "I'm not joking. I'm bound to Lord Voldemort."  
  
And silence fell over the room.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"Did he throw you out?"  
  
Tom, arms crossed stubbornly across his chest, turned around to face the bitter words.  
  
"Severus," he addressed, automatically wiping the pout-like frown off of his face and thrusting his shoulders back. "Shouldn't you be in the Great Hall with the others?"  
  
"Why would I be back with them?" Severus asked. Tom noted the distaste on the word "them." Obviously, Severus wasn't enjoying the company at Hogwarts.  
  
"Did you follow me?" Tom asked, sweeping over to stand directly in front of the Potions Master.  
  
"Yes," Severus replied, bowing his head slightly so that he wouldn't have to look his former lover in the eyes. Tom's hand automatically whisked under Severus' chin, tilting the Potion Master's head back up so that his eyes could stare into the beady blackness.  
  
"Did you want to see me?" Tom asked, a hint of coyness sneaking into his voice. He closed whatever gap had been left between the two men.  
  
"Maybe," Severus answered truthfully.  
  
"You know I'm bound to the young Potter," Tom whispered, moving his lips close to Severus' ear. "You know that we're bound together for life -- Him and I."  
  
"I know," Severus said, some emotion choking the words in his throat.  
  
"Jealous?" Tom asked, reaching his arms around Severus' neck, holding the man close to him. "Are you jealous of Harry Potter, Severus?"  
  
"A little," Severus admitted as Tom lovingly stroked his oily mass of hair. Severus could sense the sudden shift of mood and he didn't like it one bit.  
  
"Now you know how I felt when I found out that you were with James," Tom hissed, shoving Severus back against a wall. "Don't come after me again."  
  
And with that, Tom reentered his chambers, leaving Severus in a heap on the floor in the middle of the hallway.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"I'm sorry," Tom mumbled, reentering the chambers. Sirius and Harry were both staring intently at each other. "I absolutely couldn't stand being outside any longer. Some . . . students were pestering me in the hall." Tom decided to lie this once. He didn't want to spark any jealously in Harry over the subject of Severus. He knew what extreme power jealousy had.  
  
"It's okay," Harry said, his voice in a decisive monotone, never breaking eye contact with his godfather. "We're just about done anyway."  
  
"Don't let me rush you," Tom sighed. "I just get a little . . . Well, you know how I get."  
  
"I know all too well how you get," Harry replied, turning around to look at Tom. "Would you mind getting ready for bed? I'm awfully tired all of a sudden and would really like to turn off the lights in a few minutes."  
  
Tom took the subtle hint and locked the bathroom door behind him.  
  
"What have you done?" Sirius said under his breath. "My god, Harry, what have you done?"  
  
"I didn't do anything," Harry explained, trying to remain calm in the heat of the moment. "I was bound, remember? I had no choice. Tom tried running away from me once and I almost died from it. As I said, he's mine. I'm his."  
  
"James . . . Lilly . . . Forgive me," Sirius muttered, not intending the young boy to hear.  
  
"It's not your fault," Harry said quickly. "It's no one's fault. It was just something that happened. In a way, it's a blessing. I don't have to worry about threats against my life anymore. The wizarding word is safe from Lord Voldemort, Sirius! I have him in the palm of my hand, although he doesn't like to admit it." Harry tried to sound happy about this entire thing but the look in his godfather's eyes just depressed him to the extreme.  
  
"How, in God's name, can you live with that . . . thing?"  
  
"He's alright," Harry smiled. "He's not as bad as you think he'd be. Once he realized that he couldn't win and that he was stuck with me, he began to accept it. And he was cordial to me and then he started being nice to me and then things progressed from there . . ."  
  
"Have you slept with him?" Sirius asked, obviously looking out for his godson's well being. Harry sighed. Why was everyone so interested in their sex life?  
  
"Yes, Sirius," Harry said matter-of-factly. "I've slept with him. Once."  
  
"My god. Oh my god . . ." And before Harry could say another word, Sirius was beside himself, choking with long, drawn-out sobs, his face buried in the palms of his hands. Harry stared at him desperately, not quite knowing how to react. He had never seen his godfather so distressed before -- It was a fairly disturbing occurrence. Harry rested a hand on Sirius' back, trying to provide some comfort. Harry heard the click of a lock and turned around to see Tom leaning against the doorframe, staring at the two of them.  
  
"Is he alright?" Tom asked softly, nodding his head toward Sirius.  
  
"He'll be fine," Harry said, patting his godfather on the back. Sirius slowly raised his head to look Tom straight in the eyes.  
  
"You're just a child," Sirius sniffed. "I don't believe it . . . You're just a child, for God's sake! A foul-tempered child but still just a child!"  
  
"Don't let appearances fool you," Tom said, his tone relatively soft.  
  
"No!" Sirius cried out. "I won't believe you. Why should I? You're just a schoolboy that my godson happens to fancy. All this about binding spells and Lord Voldemort . . . It's just a lie -- A lie or a joke." Sirius had tried to enforce confidence behind these statements, had tried to convince himself that the worst scenario just wasn't possible.  
  
"What can I do to convince you otherwise?" Tom asked Sirius.  
  
"Nothing," the man replied. "Absolutely nothing."  
  
Tom stood there, contemplating the situation for a few minutes. Then, an idea began to form in his mind.  
  
"Statua Fidelis," Tom said with a quick wave of his wand. 


	7. Some Images Never Fade

Author's Note: In honor of my Birthday, which is tomorrow -- New Chapter!  
  
Chapter Seven -- Some Images Never Fade  
  
Too tall, too thin, too pale . . . Harry stared at the man before him, lips pursed together. A flood of memories rushed over him -- Horrible memories of a time that had passed not so long ago. Memories of a time when his life had been in jeopardy every other week and the Quidditch Cup sometimes had to come second to his own survival. A lot of Memories of Dreamless Sleep Potions, taken at three o'clock in the morning -- Memories of giving himself up to that abyss of nothingness.  
  
Harry turned to his godfather who was currently choking on his own words. He'd start to say something, hack a little, and then take in another deep breath. "You . . ." Sirius managed to get out after a few efforts. "You . . . You changed the spell? You didn't use an identity spell? You used something else?" Harry could tell that his godfather meant to use statements but it came out as questions instead.  
  
"You heard the words the same as I did," Tom said, his voice remarkably raspy and harsh. Harry couldn't repress a brief shudder, which automatically earned him a look of concern from Tom.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked, drifting over to place a gaunt hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry nodded. It was odd -- Not particularly unpleasant, but certainly odd. There wasn't a shield there anymore for Harry to rely on. There wasn't a visible barrier separating Tom from Lord Voldemort. No, they appeared to be one and the same now. It wasn't particularly unpleasant though -- Just remarkably odd. Harry reached his hand up and placed it over Tom's.  
  
"Fine," Harry muttered, looking over to Sirius who was looking at the two of them in unrepressed astonishment. "I'm doing just fine. Are you alright, Sirius?"  
  
After a few fish-liked movements of his mouth, Sirius leapt to his feet. "Where's Professor Dumbledore? I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore immediately. Someone has got to speak to Professor Dumbledore about this."  
  
"Calm down," Harry said quickly. "Don't overreact. Why don't you go and see if you can find Professor Dumbledore and we'll both be waiting here when you get back."  
  
As soon as the words left Harry's mouth, a look of distrust came over Sirius' eyes.  
  
"Leave you with him?" Sirius exclaimed, lips contorting into a scowl. "Over my dead body. He killed your parents, Harry. Don't forget that. He's not worthy of whatever trust you've invested in him."  
  
"Sirius," Harry said firmly. "Tom holds more than my trust, he holds my life. He holds my life the same as I hold his." Harry took a deep breath and Tom patted him gently on the shoulder, urging him on. "Sirius, you don't understand this. The two of us were put together for a reason. We're meant to be together, whether we initially like it or not. Sometimes life doesn't always turn out the way we want it to. We just have to go where the wind takes us, understand?" Sirius nodded hesitantly. "Now go and get Professor Dumbledore and we'll all talk this out together." Sirius didn't move. "Sirius, you don't have to trust Tom. Just trust me."  
  
Sirius hesitated for a second and then turned on his heels and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him.  
  
"Your godfather obviously cares for you," Tom said skeptically, stroking at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry grimaced and pulled away slightly. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing," Harry said, pulling his hand away from Tom. "I just don't feel very comfortable having you touch me when you're like that." Harry looked Tom up and down, taking in the snake-like creature before him. "Could you turn yourself back or something?"  
  
Tom sighed, sitting down next to Harry but keeping his distance. "I have to wait for Dumbledore. He can turn me back. I'm sorry that you have to see me like this again."  
  
"It's fine," Harry sighed.  
  
It really wasn't fine though.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"An identity spell really wasn't necessary, Tom," Dumbledore sighed, taking a sip of tea. "I don't have the ingredients for the glamourie here at Hogwarts, you know. You're going to have to remain as you are for the night. I should be able to get a hold of them by tomorrow." Another sip of tea. "You could have called me and I would have vouched in your honor."  
  
Tom nodded slightly. "Will Sirius be staying long?" he asked.  
  
"As long as Harry wants me to," Sirius stated definitely. Then he rethought the statement. "As long as it takes to convince me that Harry is safe."  
  
"What could I do to him?" Tom hissed. "I can't leave him. I can't kill him. What could I do to him, Sirius? Absolutely nothing! Of course your godson is safe. He couldn't be anything else then, could he?"  
  
Sirius glared at Tom, noticing the bitter note in the Dark Lord's voice. "Don't you even care about him? Do you know what a brave, noble, loyal young boy you have sitting there next to you? Do you have any idea, Voldemort?" Sirius spat the name out, utterly disgusted with it. It was Tom's turn to flinch, this time in sheer annoyance.  
  
"I feel very strongly about your godson," Tom replied tersely.  
  
"That doesn't tell me a single fucking thing," Sirius shouted, getting to his feet. "So you feel strongly about him. When haven't you felt strongly about him? I remember a time when you felt so strongly about him that you wanted to kill him -- Wanted to kill him more than anything in the world, do you remember? Do you mean to tell me you feel that same way now?"  
  
Tom also rose to his feet, towering before the little-rebel-who-could.  
  
"I do not mean that in the least, Sirius," Tom said through gritted teeth. "I feel very strongly about Harry. I feel a need to comfort him, to protect him, to honor and cherish him, to educate him, to indulge him, to discipline him, to nurture him, to live for every aspect of his being. I feel very strongly for this boy, indeed." Then Tom added as an afterthought. "Certainly I feel more for him than you ever did."  
  
This was the last straw for Sirius who threw his leather jacket onto the couch and started to make like he was going to beat Tom to a bloody pulp. One quick wave of Dumbledore's wand, though, and he found himself locked in place -- Unable to move a step forward.  
  
"I love him!" Sirius yelled. "I love Harry more than anything in this world! Tell me that and then I might believe you. Tell me that you love my godson!"  
  
Tom remained silent.  
  
"Tell me that you love my godson, god damn it!" Sirius raged.  
  
But this wasn't about Sirius and Tom anymore. Tom's eyes had come to focus on Harry Potter, the little Boy who Lived sitting by his side. The savior of the wizarding world was looking up at Tom with profound curiosity, wanting, and expectance. Tom knew that he should say it -- "I love you, Harry." But if he did . . .  
  
Tom thrust his shoulders back.  
  
"You should mind your own business, Black," Tom hissed, evermore the Dark Lord. Harry stared up at Tom, eyes wide with shock.  
  
"You don't even love him," Sirius stated knowingly. "You could never love anyone, you fucking Half-Blood." Harry knew the words were cheap but they would cut Tom deeply all the same.  
  
"Don't play with fire, Black," Tom said, pulling his wand out of his robes and pointing it directly at Sirius. "You're only going to get burnt in the end." Before Harry could make a move to stop him, Tom had yelled out one of the three Unforgivable Curses -- "Crucio!"  
  
Harry suddenly felt claustrophobic -- The pumping of his own blood through his veins blocked out the sound of Sirius' screams. The world seemed to be closing in around him and his breath became short. He suddenly knew that he needed to get out of that room. It didn't matter where he went to as long as he just got out of that room. He stumbled to his feet and rushed out the door as fast as he could.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Harry leaned against the wall, trying to get his bearings. The world had ceased spinning and Harry now felt like he was simply floating on reality's storm cloud. He sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes, looking up momentarily.  
  
Standing before him, eyebrow arched skeptically, stood the one man he really didn't want to see at the moment.  
  
"Well, Potter, you might as well explain yourself."  
  
Snape. 


	8. For Severus

Author's Note: Dedicated to Sandra Solaria Dees as a very Belated Birthday Present  
  
Chapter Eight -- For Severus  
  
Harry Potter sat in Severus Snape's chambers, sipping a glass of iced tea. After quickly explaining the predicament that his godfather had gotten himself into, Severus invited Harry down into his chambers until the storm had passed, or at least until Tom and Sirius had both gotten their bearings.  
  
"You seem like the type who would leap to your feet in order to defend your godfather. Why didn't you?" Severus asked, sitting down in the chair directly across from Harry so he could maintain constant eye contact with the Boy Who Lived.  
  
"I just couldn't choose," Harry said. "It was either my godfather or my . . . or Tom."  
  
"You don't know what to call him?" Severus sounded amused by this. "Why don't you just refer to him as your husband. That's what he is after all, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
Harry cringed slightly. "I never thought of him in that light, thank you."  
  
"I see," Severus said, pouring a shot of Muggle vodka. Harry gave him a questioning look. "Sometimes Muggles have such interesting means of escaping," Severus smiled -- A cold smile by any account. "One can't help but take advantage of them."  
  
An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them.  
  
"You look so much like James," Severus muttered, more to himself than to the boy.  
  
"Tom told me about your relationship with my father," Harry said, blushing slightly. "You also had an affair with Tom, didn't you."  
  
"I wouldn't call it an affair," Severus said, sounding bored with the entire conversation. "How much did Tom tell you about . . . us?"  
  
"Not much. Are you jealous?" Harry asked tentatively.  
  
"Not at all," Severus scoffed. "Why should I be? It wasn't his choice whether he wanted to be with you or not. You simply drifted into his life by chance, that's all." Harry noted the bitter tone in Severus' voice -- Definitely jealous.  
  
"We were bound together because we're complementary," Harry said. "We were meant to be together. We're soulmates."  
  
"And does he love you?" Severus asked, his voice saccharine sweet.  
  
"Of course he loves me," Harry said defensively.  
  
"Think very hard about that," Severus said, getting to his feet and looking out the window at the clouded sky. "Has he ever actually told you that he's in love with you?" Harry didn't respond. "Well?"  
  
"No," Harry said resentfully. "But I don't see why my relationships are any of your business, Professor."  
  
"Severus."  
  
"What?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled.  
  
"Call me Severus please. I used to love it when your father called me Severus." The Potions Master was staring out the window forlornly. "He used to scream out my name when we were making love." Harry shuddered briefly -- He couldn't tell whether it was from repulsion or excitement. "I wonder how it would sound coming from you."  
  
"I'm not my father," Harry said tersely.  
  
"I know you're not," Severus smiled. "But you two are so much alike . . ." Severus turned his attention back to the Gryffindor child sitting in front of him. "He used to slip into the Slytherin dorms during the winter holidays when everyone else had gone home. We used to sit in front of the fireplace, talking until late into the night. Then we would . . ." The glint of an insatiable passion was evident in Severus' eyes. "I've tried so hard to protect you, Potter. What happened to your parents . . . It was because of me. That's why I've always looked out for your well-being."  
  
"What happened exactly?" Harry asked, curious. "Tom never finished telling me the story."  
  
"A story that only Tom can tell," Severus said harshly, obviously not wanting to deal with the topic at the moment. "Call me by my name," Severus requested, his voice softer.  
  
"Professor Snape," Harry said. The Potions Master shuddered in annoyance.  
  
"My first name, Potter."  
  
"Severus," Harry said after a long pause. "Severus."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------  
  
Sirius Black lay unconscious in the hospital wing, Albus Dumbledore by his side.  
  
"Is he going to be alright, Poppy?" Albus asked, concerned.  
  
"Just like everyone else who gets hit by Crucio," Poppy replied, bustling around the room. "Sirius is strong enough to get through something like this. I am a bit worried about his arm though."  
  
During Sirius' spasms brought on by the Crucio curse, he had lashed his arm onto the stone floor, breaking the bone. It was a clean break to be sure but it would take a while to heal.  
  
"As long as he lives," Albus smiled, looking at the defiant frown plastered on Sirius' face.  
  
"After years in Azkaban, he can handle someone like Tom without a problem," Poppy smiled, bandaging a cut on Sirius' head. "I won't use magic on any of his wounds. I'm afraid he'd go into shock. You know how people get after Azkaban. Everything has to be done cautiously -- The Muggle way."  
  
"Of course," Albus replied. "Whatever's best for him."  
  
"What's to be done with Tom Riddle?" Poppy asked, swabbing some ointment onto a bruise. "Is he going to be allowed to stay at Hogwarts?"  
  
"We can't ask him to leave," Albus replied, sounding defeated. "If he leaves, Harry's life will be thrust into severe jeopardy. He has to stay at Hogwarts until the boy finishes his education. I only hope that this case of vicious overreacting was a one-time occurrence."  
  
"Knowing Lord Voldemort, I think not," Poppy said bitterly. "What are the children going to say when they find out that there's been an attack?"  
  
"They aren't going to find out," Albus said quickly. "We're going to do everything we can to keep this under wraps. If anyone asks what happened to Sirius, he fell down a flight of stairs but he should be better in a week or so."  
  
"Where's Tom right now?" Poppy asked, glancing around the hospital wing as if Tom could be lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce at any time.  
  
"He's been grounded," Albus smiled. "I put a spell on the chambers -- It should contain him for the time being. Harry ran off somewhere when his godfather was placed under Crucio."  
  
Suddenly Ron and Hermione ran into the room. Both of them were panting heavily from the sprint.  
  
"Sirius wasn't at dinner," Hermione said quickly. Her eyes darted down to the bed to see the bruised and battered form of Sirius Black. She quickly ran to his side.  
  
"Did Tom do this?" Ron asked coldly.  
  
"No, not at all," Albus responded cheerfully. "Sirius simply slipped and fell down the stairs."  
  
"He should be better in a week or so," Poppy added helpfully.  
  
Ron and Hermione looked at them both skeptically. Albus paled a few shades.  
  
"Nothing to worry about," Poppy declared, herding Ron and Hermione out of the room. "But Sirius needs to get his rest right now. You two had better get back to your dormitories."  
  
"How can Sirius need his rest? He's unconscious," Hermione stated.  
  
"But your talking is probably disturbing his unconsciousness." Hermione glared at the nurse in disbelief. "Besides, I think I hear Professor Flitwick calling for you two. Don't you have charms class right now?"  
  
"Actually we're free until . . ." But Poppy had already shoved the two of them out of the room and had bolted the door firmly against intrusion.  
  
"This isn't going to work," she said matter-of-factly.  
  
"I should know better than to try and keep anything from those two," Albus sighed. The headmaster rose to his feet. "Right now I have to see if I can find Harry. God knows what the young boy is thinking right now."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------  
  
"Severus," Harry said after a long pause. "Severus."  
  
Author's Note: Short, I know (Sorry Sandra) -- I'll try and update soon 


	9. The Rise of the Storm

Author's Note: And now for something completely different . . . (I'm sorry -- I just have to keep you all waiting a little longer)  
  
Chapter Nine -- The Rise of the Storm  
  
Lucius Malfoy sat before the assembly, looking down upon the menage of Death Eaters. It was the seat that Lord Voldemort used to occupy . . . But no more. Lucius smiled to himself. It was the end of an era. With Voldemort kept at Hogwarts, the Death Eaters were without leadership.  
  
"Fellow Death Eaters!" Lucius called out into the crowd. Any whispering automatically stopped and a slew of masked faces turned to look at Lucius. "Fellow Death Eaters, we stand here today without a leader in our midst. We stand here today with no guidance, no organization, no central power." Lucius' lips curled up slightly. "This could all change, my friends."  
  
"But what about Lord Voldemort?" A sharp little squeal came from the back of the assembly. Lucius turned to glare at the source. Yes, Peter Pettigrew -- Nervously edging his feet back and forth across the cold stone floor.  
  
"Lord Voldemort can practically be considered one of them now," Lucius said, making his voice overly mournful at the thought. With that, everyone began talking.  
  
"Couldn't be true! I've worked in the Dark Lord's service for years and . . ."  
  
"Why would he leave the Dark Arts? He's just beginning to rise in power again . . ."  
  
"Aware that he was bound to that young Potter boy but . . ."  
  
"Doesn't that put him in the ideal position to gain inside information?"  
  
"Enough!" Lucius shouted and the entire crowd fell silent. Lucius relished for a moment in his newfound power. "Lord Voldemort is nothing more than a common traitor. I have received news from various sources inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that Lord Voldemort or Tom Riddle as he now calls himself is assisting Albus Dumbledore with certain projects -- Projects concerning the Circles of Aralise."  
  
"The Circles of Aralise!" cried a Death Eater. "But those are simply a legend!"  
  
"Not quite," Lucius said, tapping his fingers on the oaken arms of the chair -- Just like Lord Voldemort used to do when he was thinking. "If Tom Riddle and that fool Albus Dumbledore can somehow find a way to open the Circles of Aralise, our extermination with be inevitable."  
  
A collective shudder went through the Death Eaters.  
  
"What can we do to stop this?" Lucius asked, never expecting an answer. He rose from his seat, his voice becoming shrill and strained. "We need to choose a new leader -- Someone with the incentive to lead us to victory, someone with the determination to triumph over the opposing forces, someone with the power to rule over all!"  
  
No more needed to be said. Avery fell onto his left knee, head bowed in reverence and respect.  
  
"I pledge my loyalties to the Lord Malfoy," he said somberly. Lucius tried not to smile with mirth. Crabbe and Goyle followed devotedly, then Mulciber, Nott, and Pettigrew. One by one, the Death Eaters fell to their knees, pledging their loyalty to Lucius Malfoy. Eventually, only one figure stood among the lot of them. The figure walked to the center of the assembly, dark green hood concealing his face. He was a small figure, only standing about five foot four. Some of the Death Eaters narrowed their eyes at him, others simply sniggered.  
  
The figure eventually fell onto his knee, pulling his hood back. He didn't wear a mask. His face was completely revealed to the assembly. He refused to bow his head in subservience though.  
  
"I pledge my loyalties to the Lord Malfoy."  
  
Lucius Malfoy walked down the stairway to stand in front of the petite child.  
  
"This will all be yours someday, Draco," Lucius purred.  
  
Draco Malfoy smiled.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Lucius Malfoy sat at the desk in his study, working out strategies and plans. Draco sat by his feet, playing with a Persian kitten that had come into the Malfoy household a few weeks ago.  
  
"Father," Draco asked idly, swinging a piece of yarn from between two fingers. "I was just wondering . . . Is there some personal vendetta between Lord Voldemort and yourself?"  
  
Lucius Malfoy stopped writing and twitched with irritation.  
  
"Please do not use that name in my household, Draco," he said, trying to keep his patience with the young boy. "Just refer to him as Tom Riddle. That's all the respect he's entitled to now."  
  
"Oh," Draco said softly, scratching behind the kitten's ears. "Well, is there some personal vendetta between Tom Riddle and yourself?"  
  
"Why do you think that?" Lucius asked, going back to his strategies.  
  
"Just because," Draco shrugged. "You didn't seem overly upset about his betrayal. You seemed rather joyful. Why is that?"  
  
Lucius laughed softly, reaching down to stroke his son's flaxen hair just as Draco was stroking the kitten.  
  
"It's the rise to power," Lucius explained. "Aren't you joyful that your father is the new Dark Lord? Aren't you joyful that the Malfoy family has risen in power ten-fold over the past few hours? Well?"  
  
"I suppose," Draco sighed, leaning into his father's touch a little. "I just . . . For a moment it just seemed as if there were something more to it."  
  
"I assure you, my Draco," Lucius declared, "There is nothing more to it than that."  
  
Draco nodded and Lucius kissed the child gently, almost sweetly. Draco sprawled out on the carpet and resumed playing with the kitten. Lucius went back to his work but memories kept prying at his mind.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
1976  
  
Lucius Malfoy sat in front of the fireplace. The flames cast intricate designs of light upon his face. He was engrossed in a volume on the Dark Arts, supplied by the benefactor sitting behind him who was currently watching his every movement.  
  
"Sir," Lucius declared. "I find this all very interesting."  
  
"It is, my young Malfoy," the man declared. "Do you know how much power you currently hold in your hands?"  
  
Lucius looked at the book in wonderment -- His wide silver-hued eyes scrutinizing the cover.  
  
"Tell me, Lucius," the man said, interrupting the boy's train of thought. The man -- Voldemort, as he was called -- was in the prime of his life. His ebony hair was lightly streaked with gray but his face remained without wrinkle nor crease. He sat with his back straight and his head high. Lucius noticed for the first time that he, an aristocratic Malfoy, slouched.  
  
"Tell me, Lucius, what do you want from life?"  
  
Lucius thought about it for a moment, unsure what the basis for the question was. Was Voldemort asking out of curiosity or was this something that would effect Lucius' position as a Death Eater?  
  
"I want power," Lucius said finally. Voldemort nodded in understanding. Lucius paused for a moment, wondering if he should continue. He decided to be truthful with his newfound friend.  
  
"And I want you," he said quietly. Voldemort's left eyebrow arched slightly in surprise. Lucius blushed and bowed his head in shame and embarrassment.  
  
"Keep your head up, child," Voldemort demanded and automatically, Lucius snapped to attention. Voldemort's lips curved up into a smile.  
  
"If you want me," Voldemort stated. "Then come here and have me."  
  
Lucius looked at the man in amazement, hardly believing what had just been said. He slowly got to his feet and walked over to where the man sat. He slid onto the man's lap, twining his arms around Voldemort's neck.  
  
"Say it, Lucius," Voldemort whispered into the boy's ear.  
  
"I am yours," Lucius stated before claiming the man's lips in a kiss.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
To have been left . . . For Severus Snape . . . For Harry Potter . . .  
  
Yes, Draco. There is a personal vendetta. 


	10. An Offer to Refuse

Author's Note: Dedicated to Sev's Gurl (Hippy Flower) for asking me to join her mailing list and Kebi for the fan mail -- What can I say? I love it when people write me fan mail! (BTW: If someone ever draws fan art for my stories, I'll love them forever)  
  
Chapter Ten -- An Offer to Refuse  
  
Severus Snape stood by the fireplace, watching the flames spit and jump. Fires made such perfect pictures -- A hint of violet at the tip of a gold and crimson tongue. It could destroy without prejudice. It could also warm and nurture. In a way, fire was a complete paradox.  
  
"I think I should be heading back to my room, sir," Harry said quietly. The Potions Master hadn't spoken a word for the past quarter of an hour. The boy began to rise to his feet, hesitantly.  
  
"Stay, Potter," Severus commanded. Automatically, the boy dropped back down onto the chair. Severus didn't turn to look at him though. "Potter, I'm going to offer this to you once and only once, do you understand?"  
  
"Yes," Harry replied, concentrating his attention on his shoes, which were brushing against the hardwood of Severus' floors.  
  
"Come to bed with me."  
  
Harry's feet stopped in mid-swing.  
  
"What did you say?" Harry asked, convinced that he hadn't heard the last statement correctly.  
  
"Come to bed with me, Potter," Severus repeated slowly, as if he were talking to an incompetent child.  
  
"You mean . . . To go to sleep with you?" Harry asked hopefully.  
  
"No, you insolent brat," Severus scoffed. Like a true gentleman, he left the rest unsaid. No need to use such vulgarity with a student, after all.  
  
"Oh," Harry said quietly.  
  
"I know," Severus sighed, suddenly seeming bored with the entire conversation. "It's an offer to refuse but I attempted to offer all the same."  
  
The entire situation was so unlike Severus Snape and . . . Harry suddenly noticed the six empty shot glasses sitting on the table. "Of course," Harry thought to himself. "Of course."  
  
The Potions Master walked over to the chair opposite Harry Potter and stretched out languidly. Harry watched intently as nearly every limb in that lanky body stretched out luxuriantly.  
  
"I apologize Potter," Severus murmured. "Sometimes when I abuse my liquor, I am a bit too vocal in my thoughts. I must have been remembering your father or something of the sort . . . "  
  
"I'm not my father," Harry repeated.  
  
"So you say," Severus replied, smiling sardonically. He waited expectantly for a moment before asking, "So are you staying or are you leaving?"  
  
"I can't stay," Harry shrugged apologetically. Looking at the man, Harry wasn't even so sure if he wanted to. The oil-slick hair hanging limply along the slender, sallow face with the nose the size of a small peninsula . . . No, he definitely didn't want to. The man was a horror among horrors -- The ugliest man on the Hogwarts staff. Even Dumbledore or Flitwick would be better to spend the night with . . . Harry's nose twitched in disgust.  
  
"I suppose not," Severus said, his voice tinged with disappointment. He rose to his feet and his robe absently fell off of his left shoulder, revealing a glimpse of the professor's body. It was just as lanky as Harry suspected -- The bone poked up anxiously from under the thin layer of skin and muscle. But it was still skin . . .  
  
Harry shuddered.  
  
"Some other time maybe," Harry said, trying to make the professor feel slightly better about the rejection.  
  
"I don't think so, Potter," Severus scoffed. The robe slipped a bit farther down off of his shoulder. Harry stared blatantly. "I said that this was a one-time offer. But, of course, you have to get back to your Tom, don't you." The bitter note on the name "Tom" brought Harry's attention back to the conversation.  
  
"Yes," Harry said stiffly. "I have to get back to my Tom. I expect he'll have calmed down by now, don't you think so?"  
  
"Tom never calms down," Severus smiled, opening the door of his office. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to Dumbledore. I doubt he'd be very lenient about one of his staff members getting completely drunk and propositioning a student."  
  
"I won't say a word," Harry nodded. "These are hard times after all. We all need some means of escaping every now and again."  
  
"Good night, Potter."  
  
"Good night, Professor," Harry said, taking one last glance at that shoulder before the door was shut in his face.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Tom, or Voldemort as he was more often called in this form, sat in his chambers, slouched slightly and looking worn. Too tale, too thin, too pale . . . He glimpsed his image in a mirror and he could have broken glass. This skeletal, snake-like figure . . . He silently prayed that tomorrow would come quickly. He needed that glamourie back in place and quickly.  
  
Someone knocked quietly at the door.  
  
"Come in," Tom said softly. The door creaked open and there, in all his radiant glory, was Harry Potter. Tom patted the bed next to him, signaling for Harry to come and sit down, but the boy remained standing.  
  
"I apologize," Tom sighed. Harry didn't move a muscle.  
  
"Next time you do anything like that," Harry said coldly, "I will not hesitate to defend my family."  
  
"There won't be a next time," Tom said definitely. "But you have to understand my nature . . ."  
  
"That's no one's nature," Harry said definitely. "That's simply pettiness and cruelty. You were a vindictive bastard tonight and I should refuse to look at you for at least a month."  
  
"Then why are you standing in the doorframe?" Tom asked, smiling slightly. The warmth radiating off of the man sitting in front of him caused Harry to relax a little bit and the corners of his lips unwilling turned up into a smile.  
  
"Just don't do it again, okay?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
Harry went over and flopped down on the bed next to Tom.  
  
"So where did you run off to?" Tom asked conversationally.  
  
"Oh nowhere," Harry lied. "I just needed to be alone for a few minutes . . ." He checked the clock. "Hours . . ."  
  
"I see," Tom said, raising an eyebrow slightly. He refused to ask Harry any more questions about his whereabouts tonight though. They would definitely be unappreciated.  
  
"Where's Sirius? Is he still in the infirmary?"  
  
"Yes," Tom replied sheepishly. "He'll be there until tomorrow. He's fine though -- Just a bit battered and bruised."  
  
"I need to stop by and see him tomorrow, I suppose," Harry said, more to himself than to Tom. "Do you think I should bring him anything?"  
  
"Some Every Flavor Beans," Tom smiled. "Or maybe just a piece of chocolate. Chocolate is the comfort food, you know."  
  
"Remus always used to give me chocolate," Harry replied. "After the Dementor showed up on the Hogwarts Express he gave me chocolate."  
  
"Of course," Tom said. "Remus Lupin -- The werewolf. I expect I'll be meeting him next, then. Hopefully, he'll be easier to deal with then your godfather was."  
  
"Hmmm," Harry sighed as if he hardly cared. He cuddled up against a pillow and closed his eyes.  
  
"Do you mind sharing the bed tonight?" Tom asked, keeping his voice at a whisper so he wouldn't disturb Harry's calm.  
  
"It's fine," Harry yawned. "As long as you don't touch me when you're like that . . ."  
  
"Alright," Tom said, turning off the lights. He lay down on the bed, as far away from Harry as possible, and tried to pretend that the boy's last words hadn't hurt him.  
  
Author's Note: Ick! Hard chapter for me to write! I'll update soon . . . 


	11. Serpentine

Chapter Eleven -- Serpentine  
  
Harry Potter's eyes batted open. Startling white assaulted his sensitive, sleep-ridden corneas. The lights had already been turned on. Harry slowly rolled over to check the timepiece next to his bed -- Four o'clock in the morning. But who would be up at four o'clock in the morning on a weekend? On a Saturday? Harry groaned and lifted his head from the down pillow.  
  
Tom Riddle sat at the desk in the corner -- Lengthy off-white fingers flicking through paperwork, quill perched between the thin line of his lips. He looked so contemplative sitting there. A slight smile darted onto Harry's lips.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Tom was more than startled but grabbed the arm of the chair to steady himself. He turned around to face the young boy who was lying on the bed, looking at him expectantly. He took the quill out of his mouth and tossed it down onto the desk.  
  
"You shouldn't disturb someone like that," Tom said, trying his best to scold but not succeeding. "I'm just working on some projects."  
  
"Those projects for Dumbledore?" Harry leapt to his feet and walked over to the desk, trying to get a peek over Tom's shoulder. Tom quickly shoved the paperwork into one of the desk drawers much to Harry's dismay.  
  
"I told you," Tom sighed. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to know about those yet."  
  
"I know," Harry said, his voice bridging on a whine. "But couldn't you just give me a hint. What are they being used for? What are they about? Why are you doing them? Anything!"  
  
"I wish I could, Harry," Tom replied. "But I can't. You'll find out about them later, I'm sure."  
  
"Whatever they are, you're certainly a dedicated worker," Harry commented. "Four o'clock in the morning?"  
  
"I was slipping off the bed," Tom shrugged. "Figured I'd get up and work since I couldn't sleep."  
  
"If you were falling off the bed, why didn't you just move over?" Harry asked, crossing his arms against his chest and raising an eyebrow as if to say, "You stupid git."  
  
"It's a small bed," Tom answered.  
  
"So? So you could have moved over, Tom."  
  
"No, I couldn't. You didn't want me to touch you, remember?" Tom started to open the desk drawer again but Harry quickly put his hand over the other man's.  
  
"Don't," Harry said simply. "It's four o'clock in the morning on a Saturday. No one should have to get up this early."  
  
"But work . . ." Tom began, pulling his hand away from Harry.  
  
"Work be bloody well damned!" Harry smiled, grabbing Tom's hand and pulling him up from the chair and over to the bed. Harry quickly hopped into the bed, yanking the comforter over his form.  
  
"Turn off the lights then," Harry yawned, cozying into a pillow.  
  
The lights flicked off. Harry felt Tom getting into the bed next to him but he noticed that Tom stayed on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance.  
  
"You falling off the bed?" Harry asked. "And reply honestly."  
  
"A bit," Tom sighed. "Good night, Harry."  
  
"I don't think so," Harry said obstinately. "Get over here."  
  
Tom moved over a little.  
  
"Farther," Harry sighed, exasperated.  
  
Tom moved over a little more -- A couple of inches at most.  
  
"Oh would you just move to the middle of the bloody bed! Let me get an arm around you at least!"  
  
Tom sat up, a little shocked. Crimson eyes narrowed into slits as he tried to fathom what had happened to change Harry's steadfast opinions. He moved over to Harry's side but still looked puzzled.  
  
"Now just lie down," Harry demanded.  
  
Tom lay down on the bed and Harry curled up against him. The boy rested in head in one of the hollows of Tom's unnaturally bony chest.  
  
"What has gotten into you?" Tom asked, a little bit unnerved.  
  
"Nothing," Harry replied. "I just . . . I've been a bit ridiculous, I suppose. You'll have to excuse me."  
  
"Of course you haven't been ridiculous," Tom stated, running his fingers through Harry's mess of hair. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I wouldn't touch you . . . That's rather ridiculous, wouldn't you say?" Tom noticed that Harry's eyes were closed tightly against his pale flesh.  
  
"Not at all," Tom whispered. "I killed your parents. I was responsible for the death of that friend of yours, Cedric Diggory. I even attempted to take your life. I have quite a bit of blood on my hands, Harry. It's hard to touch a person who's so unclean."  
  
Harry was silent for a few moments -- Eyes clenched shut.  
  
"Open your eyes, Harry." Harry brought his head up from its perch on Tom's chest and he opened his eyes, gazing upon the haunting visage. "It's all angles and lines," Harry thought looking at the smooth contour of Tom's face. The lips were thin and drawn-out and the jaw was sharp. The nose was long and flat. The cheekbones were high and prominent. The eyes were slightly slanted and a deep shade of scarlet -- Somewhere between the color of an American Beauty rose and the color of blood. His eyebrows arched up in a thin, definite line of ebony -- Making him look stern yet elegant. His skin was a refined ivory. He was amazingly serpentine.  
  
"Not all that unpleasant to look at," Harry murmured, more to himself than to Tom.  
  
Tom reached a finger up to touch Harry's cheek, echoing a movement he had made in the Little Hangleton churchyard a couple years ago.  
  
The world fell into black for a few minutes.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"Hello Harry."  
  
Harry spun around to face a black work robe with a Hufflepuff crest sewn on it. Harry's eyes traveled upward -- The lean neck, the pretty face, the soft gray eyes . . .  
  
"Hello Cedric. I'm dreaming, aren't I."  
  
"Yes," Cedric smiled. "How are you doing? Are you dating Cho yet?"  
  
Harry blushed wildly and wrung his hands nervously but when he noticed the amused look on Cedric's face, he relaxed a little.  
  
"I did date Cho for a while," Harry said softly. "We broke up."  
  
Somewhere from the blackness the words echoed -- "Kill the spare." Cedric didn't seem to hear them but Harry was startled for a moment.  
  
"Why? Are you seeing someone else then?"  
  
Harry flinched. This dream Cedric seemed to know all of the right questions to ask in order to unnerve Harry.  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
Then the unavoidable . . . "Who?"  
  
"You're a dream right?" Harry asked shyly. "That means you can't hate me or anything."  
  
"I never hated you, Harry," Cedric said gently. "I know that you were a bit jealous of me but I never hated you . . . even when you did try and steal all the glory." A wide grin from Cedric told Harry that the last statement was a joke -- Thank God.  
  
"You might hate me after this," Harry replied.  
  
"Just tell me who, Harry."  
  
"Lord Voldemort," Harry whispered, shuffling his feet in the darkness. Cedric looked incensed for a moment but, like the kind and compassionate Hufflepuff he was, he thought a moment before reacting.  
  
"Let me guess why I'm currently in your dreams. You're worried that everyone over on this side wouldn't approve."  
  
"I had no choice, Cedric!" Harry protested, arms flailing helplessly.  
  
"In that case, I definitely don't approve and I'm ashamed of you," Cedric said firmly, very unlike a typical Hufflepuff. Cedric turned on his heels and began to walk away.  
  
"Wait!" Harry called after Cedric. "Before you go, I want you to tell everyone . . . Tell my parents and tell everyone who ever fell by his hand and that I love him too! I love him no matter what he's done and no matter who he's hurt and no matter how he's made my life a living hell because I forgive him all that."  
  
Cedric turned around and smiled.  
  
"That was all you had to say."  
  
"What?" Harry asked, cocking his head to the side.  
  
"You have my -- our -- approval, Harry. You don't have to be afraid anymore."  
  
And the blackness around him faded.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"Harry! Harry!" The call came from out of the blackness and Harry opened his eyes to see deep concerned crimson. "You just nodded off in the middle of a conversation and I really think that maybe we should get some sleep. You look . . ." And without another thought, Harry sat up and kissed those thin, drawn-out lips.  
  
"What invoked that?" Tom asked quietly after the boy stopped.  
  
"I have some approval," Harry smiled.  
  
Author's Note: Ah, peace and calm! You know it can't last for long but it's certainly nice for one chapter  
  
This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Cedric Diggory 


	12. The Next Chapter

Author's Note: And for all of you who have waited so patiently, the next chapter -- And it's a bit longer too  
  
Chapter Twelve -- The Next Chapter  
  
1996  
  
The two of them lay in bed -- Suntanned beige and ivory. Harry curled up slightly against Tom -- More like a child than a lover. Tom, in turn, wrapped a protective arm around the boy.  
  
"I went to go see Snape," Harry murmured under his breath.  
  
"Really?" Tom replied, his tone less than pleased.  
  
"I asked him to tell me what had happened between the two of you -- What happened when you found out that Snape was in love with my father."  
  
"And what did he say?"  
  
"He said that it was a story that only you could tell."  
  
Tom laughed gently. "Yes --" A slight hiss to the word. "That sounds like something Severus would say." Tom paused for a moment before asking Harry the question on his mind. "Is that all you two talked about?"  
  
"Of course," Harry said, maybe a bit too adamantly. "What else could we say to each other?"  
  
Tom looked a bit skeptical and Harry hoped that he wouldn't pursue the subject any further.  
  
"Tell me what happened," Harry beseeched.  
  
"It's an upsetting story," Tom stated.  
  
"I can handle it."  
  
"Fine," Tom sighed. "It didn't take very much to figure out that Severus was sleeping with someone other than myself. Sometimes he'd come home, tussled and exhausted, and someone else's scent would be infiltrating his every pore. Through a few carefully placed spies, I discovered that Severus was having an affair with a married man -- Your father, to be precise. At first, I was absolutely furious. How dare he take another to bed with him? He was supposed to be mine and only mine. Then I realized that the only way to solve this little problem was to confront Severus on it in a fairly calm and rational manner and that is exactly what I did . . ."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
1981 (August)  
  
Severus Snape lay on the bed -- White cotton sheets curled around him. It was one of those August nights when you can smell the rain in the air -- The crisp, clean smell of damp and dew. And it was so warm. Severus absent- mindedly kicked the sheets off a little.  
  
"What is it about white sheets? They always make you look so virtuous."  
  
Severus smiled and sat up in the bed, the covers falling down around his waist.  
  
"Do you always sleep in such an . . . exposed manner?" Voldemort asked, arching his eyebrow slightly as he took in Severus' thin, yet redeemingly bare, form.  
  
"Only when it's warm out," Severus smiled. Voldemort sat down by the boy's side, gently brushing his hair out of his eyes and off of his shoulders. "Severus, I have a question to ask you."  
  
"Of course," Severus sighed as Voldemort kissed the side of his neck.  
  
"Do I satisfy you?" Hands settled on Severus' hips. The young boy nodded slightly before his head lulled back against his shoulder, his eyes closed in blissful surrender. Voldemort moved one of his hands to Severus' groin and began to fondle his erection.  
  
"Are you seeing anyone else?" Severus shook his head "no," undulating slightly against Voldemort's ministrations. "Not even James Potter?"  
  
At this, Severus froze rigidly and his eyes snapped open.  
  
"I thought so," Voldemort said softly, instantly taking his hands off of Severus and folding them elegantly in his lap. "He's married to that Evans girl, is he not?"  
  
Severus nodded awkwardly.  
  
"He is a very attractive boy," Voldemort admitted. "But why? For God's sake, Severus, why? You have me wrapped around your finger. You have . . . the world in the palm of your hand. You have power that even God himself would envy. Think about everything I've done for you, child." Voldemort stood up and walked over to the open window. "You have these exquisite chambers, which I have supplied. You have your garments . . ." A half- hearted gesticulation and the wardrobe door flew open, revealing robes of forest-green silk. "Which I have paid for. You have your library, which I have furnished. You have your laboratories, which I have funded. You have your every whim granted, thanks to my resources. And, if I am not mistaken, you are more than adequately provided for sexually . . . Are you not?"  
  
"I am," Severus replied sheepishly.  
  
"Then why, Severus? Why James Potter?"  
  
Severus thought for a moment before responding.  
  
"Because James is kind," he replied. "And I need someone kind in my life."  
  
"Am I not kind to you?" Voldemort asked sullenly. "I love you very much."  
  
"I know you do," Severus muttered. A deep silence fell over the two men. "What is to become of me?" Severus asked shyly.  
  
"I don't know," Voldemort sighed. "I would be lying if I said that I wasn't hurt by this betrayal. I would also be lying if I said that, even now, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are so beautiful to me, Severus."  
  
Severus rose from the bed.  
  
"That is the one thing James never said to me."  
  
"What?" Voldemort asked, walking over and twining his arms around the boy's extremely slender waist ("If I tried," Voldemort thought to himself, "I could probably encircle his waist with my hands").  
  
"James never once called me beautiful."  
  
"Why?" Voldemort asked, trailing a finger down Severus' sallow cheek.  
  
"Because," Severus smiled, "I'm not."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
1981 (October)  
  
"This is the punishment then," Severus said, buttoning his robe. It was a turn-of-the-century style: Black -- Gathered at the waist then flaring out decadently. "This is what I get for being so unfaithful."  
  
"Precisely," Voldemort smiled, fastening a half-cloak around his shoulders. "I couldn't just let you go without due discipline, could I? Sit."  
  
Severus sat down in front of a vanity. Voldemort stood behind him, fussing with the mat of hair that had accumulated around the boy's shoulders, trying to pin it up into a haphazard bun.  
  
"I asked him to stay with me after graduation," Severus said. "I asked him to live with me down in Hogsmeade."  
  
"Oh really," Voldemort replied, seemingly uninterested. "What did he say?"  
  
"He almost said yes."  
  
"The key word is 'almost,'" Voldemort smiled. "Obviously, in his eyes, you were no match for Miss Evans." A drawn out pause followed.  
  
"I won't let you do it," Severus said finally. "I won't let you."  
  
"My Severus," Voldemort sighed. "Do you really think that you can stop me? The most you can do is stand by while I ignite eternity. Then we can both drink champagne and watch it burn." Voldemort stuck a final hair pin in and admired Severus' reflection. "Not bad," he muttered. "Come."  
  
Severus pulled a black cloak down from his closet and wrapped it around his gaunt form.  
  
"You should try eating something," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "You're absolutely worn to a shadow."  
  
"Not now," Severus declared, pulling a white mask down from a shelf.  
  
"Don't put that on," Voldemort commanded harshly. Startled, Severus put the mask back down. "I want to be able to see your face tonight."  
  
"Heartless," Severus stated bitterly. The Dark Lord pulled Severus' hood up, making sure that the boy wasn't cold. It was an October night -- A rather chilly October night at that.  
  
"Are you warm enough?"  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
"Good."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
The Death Eaters gathered in a nearby wood. As it was eleven o'clock in the evening, the area was wonderfully vacant. A group of fine black stallions stood nearby, munching away at the newly trimmed grass. Finally, Voldemort entered the circle, Severus at his side. The Death Eaters all bowed to their Master respectfully, except for Severus, of course.  
  
"Pettigrew!" Voldemort called into the legions. "Step forward!"  
  
A plump young man with fine flax hair stepped forward. Severus couldn't restrain a short burst of laughter.  
  
"Is something humorous?" Voldemort asked, sweeping behind Severus and placing his hands on the boy's shoulders. Severus quickly pulled away and some of the newer Death Eaters gawked at his lack of respect. Severus walked over to where Peter stood.  
  
"So, one of the Marauders has finally stepped forward and decided to bestow the Judas Kiss," Severus quipped.  
  
"Do I know you from somewhere, my . . . my . . ." Pettigrew looked at the other Death Eaters for assistance but received none. Peter's question confused Severus for a moment but he quickly realized that the hood of his cloak was concealing his face in shadow. He pushed the thick velvet back and Peter turned a sickly shade of white.  
  
"Snape?" Peter gasped. "I didn't see you at any of the meetings and I thought that you weren't a part of . . . well . . . I didn't know . . ."  
  
Many of the experienced Death Eaters laughed harshly. Severus held up a hand to silence them. They instantly obeyed the command.  
  
"It's nice to see you again, Snape . . . I mean, Severus," Peter swallowed deeply.  
  
"I wish I could say the same," Severus said coldly. He turned his back on the stuttering Peter and quickly took his place by Voldemort's side again. The Dark Lord immediately wrapped a protective arm around the boy.  
  
"Pull your hood up, Severus," Voldemort said gently. "You'll catch your death out here." Severus obeyed without question.  
  
"These are my commands for the evening," Voldemort announced. "We are travelling up to Godric's Hollow. We should arrive there around twelve thirty due to the fact that we are using solely Muggle transportation tonight." Various groans from the audience were heard. "Come now," Voldemort smiled. "With all the charms placed around that household, I don't want to use any magic until we have to. Besides, the night air is good for you all!" Voldemort chuckled at the various side comments. "Cease transport a mile away from the Potter household. I will give you further instructions from there."  
  
"Hail Lord Voldemort!" All of the Death Eaters shouted dutifully, pledging their allegiance. And with that, most of the Death Eaters mounted their horses and took off into the night. Voldemort beckoned Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy over. Severus had wandered off into a nearby clearing to look at the stars.  
  
"I want you two to watch after him very carefully," Voldemort commanded. "Make sure that no harm comes to him and, of course, make sure that he doesn't catch cold."  
  
"Of course, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy said, bowing deeply but barely hiding the hostility in his voice.  
  
Voldemort whistled -- A shrill, light whistle -- and a small, ornate sleigh pulled up by his side.  
  
"Severus!" Voldemort called. "You're to travel with Lucius and Peter tonight."  
  
Severus turned around, glaring at the two men.  
  
"Charmed," he replied through gritted teeth.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"So Snape," Peter said hesitantly. "What exactly are you to Lord Voldemort?"  
  
Severus sat staring out at the moonlit snow, his cloak clutched around him.  
  
"Severus services Voldemort sexually," Lucius replied venomously. "Isn't that right, Severus?"  
  
Severus turned to look at Lucius -- No hint of emotion in his black eyes.  
  
"We're lovers," he said simply. "That's all."  
  
"Oh!" Peter said, as if he was hearing all of the juicy gossip. Severus cringed. He sounded like a second-year schoolgirl.  
  
"Everyone knows it," Lucius said, thwarting Peter's glee. "They aren't exactly the most discreet. Then again, there is some juicy gossip going around on Severus . . . In fact, it concerns one of your old school chums, Peter."  
  
"Shut up, Lucius," Severus snapped. Simultaneously, Peter coaxed, "Tell! Tell!"  
  
"You know, Severus," Lucius said, diverting his attentions from Peter. "I can't see why everyone keeps going after you so insatiably. You're quite ugly."  
  
"Thank you, I'm sure," Severus hissed.  
  
"I will admit," Lucius continued, "That you have a certain . . . ambiance about you -- Grace, poise, stature . . . Doesn't he, Peter?"  
  
"I suppose so," Peter said, crinkling his nose and trying his hardest to see this supposed "ambiance."  
  
"Drink?" Lucius offered, pulling a flask of gin from inside his cloak and offering it to Severus.  
  
"I believe the phrase is 'Beware Greeks bearing gifts,'" the boy scoffed. Lucius took a deep swig of the alcohol and placed it back under his robes.  
  
"Paranoia, Severus -- Simply paranoia," Lucius drawled lazily, looking at Severus with a mixture of hostility and lechery. Severus shuddered unconsciously. "Do I make you nervous, Severus?" Lucius purred, gently kicking the inside of Severus' leg with his leather boot.  
  
"I'd watch myself, Lucius," Severus reprimanded.  
  
The sleigh came to a smooth halt.  
  
They had reached Godric's Hollow. 


	13. Confrontation at the Hollow

Author's Note: Sorry that last one took me so long -- And Canarde, that is the perfect way to say it: "Poor, sweet Severus is a doormat" (So true)  
  
Major breaking of cannon in this one but, then again, cannon was made to be broken  
  
Chapter Thirteen -- Confrontation at the Hollow  
  
Godric's Hollow was a quaint little Muggle village with picturesque cottages. The Death Eaters stopped on the edge of the town, waiting for the next command. Peter ran off, joining Mulciber and Karkaroff. The one-time Marauder launched into a torrent of gossip. Karkaroff, black hair shimmering, looked at Severus and rolled his eyes -- Meaning: "Peter is a tedious bore, Severus." Severus adamantly nodded in agreement. Severus liked Igor for some strange reason. The man was shrewd and harsh but he was also an embarrassing coward. Severus kept Igor on as his personal attendant -- Trying to keep the man out of Voldemort's way.  
  
Severus felt a boot brushing up against the inside of his thigh. He turned his attentions to Lucius who was looking at him with no small amount of hatred.  
  
"Are you ready to destroy the Potter family?" Lucius asked, smiling sourly. "It should be fun -- Hearing James scream."  
  
Severus tensed a little but remained cool. "It depends on what your sense of 'fun' is."  
  
"Voldemort is a very jealous man, is he not?" Lucius asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.  
  
"We're all jealous," Severus replied in a tone that signaled that the conversation was over.  
  
Voldemort rode up into the clearing at that moment, dismounting from his horse.  
  
"We will proceed on foot from here on in," he stated, helping Severus out of the sleigh and wrapping an arm around him. Lucius openly scowled at the two.  
  
In a straight line, they marched into the Hollow, covered in the shadow of nightfall. Severus kept shivering violently. Voldemort had to call the men to a stop once so that Severus could get himself together. After ten minutes, they found themselves in front of a red brick house, ivy languidly growing up the sides -- The Potter household.  
  
"My Lord," Severus said, his voice stammering. "Tom, I beg you, do what you will with James Potter just don't make me watch."  
  
"I have no intention of making you watch and, more than that, I have no intention of doing anything to James Potter."  
  
Severus stood there, confused and shocked for a moment. Then, the implication of the statement finally dawned on him.  
  
"No . . ." he managed. "I absolutely refuse . . ."  
  
"Then they will die a more horrendous death than you could ever imagine," Voldemort said tersely. "It is your choice, Severus."  
  
Severus continued on by Voldemort's side.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
James and Lily Potter sat in the living room, talking about the upcoming visit to see "Uncle Sirius." Nothing was more precious than watching Sirius sit Harry down on the floor and play peek-a-boo with him for hours at a time. Sirius was absolutely perfect with children -- Perfect.  
  
The door opened. The two of them heard footsteps in the hall and automatically rose to their feet. Albus would have knocked. Sirius might come charging in like that but . . . There were so many pairs of feet trampling through the hallway into the living room.  
  
"Lily," James said in a very measured tone, "Go upstairs and watch Harry."  
  
"No," Lily exclaimed. "I won't leave you! It's them, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes," James replied. "Go upstairs and watch Harry, Lily. Protect the child. I promise you -- Everything'll be all right."  
  
Lily didn't have time to think. The Death Eaters came charging into the room and she fled up the stairs to Harry's bedroom. James stood his ground firmly as Voldemort came striding into the room, a hooded figure by his side.  
  
"What do you want?" James asked through gritted teeth.  
  
"James," Voldemort said gently, "I never held anything personal against you. You crusade for that fool Dumbledore but a trifle like that is hardly a reason to kill you. You possess no true power or skill. You are simply another name on a long, tiresome list."  
  
"So why come here?"  
  
"Tell him," Voldemort spat, pushing the hooded figure forward. The figure fell on his knees before James Potter.  
  
"I am so sorry, James," the figure whispered. James recognized the voice immediately. The figure untied the cape and let it fall to the floor. Automatically, James' eyes fell upon the tear-stained face of Severus Snape. How many times had James seen that face contorted in the throws of ecstasy? Now, the eyes were red and the cheeks were rose-colored and blotchy. Hair fell in messy strands around his face.  
  
"Why not do what you want to?" Voldemort asked softly. "Take him and kiss him, if that is what you wish."  
  
Severus could only cry more fervently. James sank to the floor next to Severus and put his arms around the boy, drawing him close. The ever-noble Gryffindor kissed the tears from his cheeks and the sobs from his mouth, calming him and soothing him.  
  
"Do you feel better now, my love?" Voldemort asked. Severus tensed instantly and James' hands fell to his sides.  
  
"My love?" James repeated, startled. "You mean, you were . . . But you told me you weren't seeing anyone else. And him . . . My god, Severus, what have you gotten yourself into? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"How was I going to admit . . . this?" Severus asked, choking on the tears that were collecting at the back of his throat. "I loved you, James. You were so nice to me."  
  
Severus reached out to touch James' cheek but the man pulled away stiffly.  
  
"Kill him, Severus," Voldemort commanded. "I would take you into my arms and offer you the world. He would turn from you when you wish to simply touch him. Kill him."  
  
"I cannot," Severus pleaded. "I love him."  
  
"Really?" Voldemort asked with an amused arch of his eyebrow. "Crucio!" he bellowed and James lurched into spasms on the floor.  
  
"Stop!" Severus begged, trying to find a way to restrain James before he hurt himself. "Please stop!"  
  
Voldemort ceased the spell and looked at Severus expectantly.  
  
"Either we can continue on this path for the evening," Voldemort stated. "Or you can put him out of his misery now and save him the pain and the agony."  
  
"There has to be another way . . ." Severus declared.  
  
"There is no other way and you know it, Severus."  
  
Severus rose to his feet so that he was looking down on James' still form. He reached into his robes and took out his wand -- Thin maple with an obsidian core -- and pointed it towards the Gryffindor.  
  
"Do it," James said, staring up at Severus for a moment.  
  
"Avada Kedavra," Severus said, his voice shrill under the pressure of the moment.  
  
Then, the boy fell to his knees and the world went black.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
When Severus finally awoke, he was lying in his bed and Lucius was sitting next to him.  
  
"He's dead, isn't he?" Severus asked, his voice tired and worn.  
  
"How did you know?" Lucius asked.  
  
"You wouldn't be here if he wasn't," Severus smiled. "I suppose we have no reason to compete anymore."  
  
Lucius stiffly rose from the bed and scowled at the young boy.  
  
"I was only making sure that you were still alive. I was the one last seen with you. I didn't want to be locked up in Azkaban for your death, after all."  
  
Lucius left the room.  
  
And Severus wept.  
  
For he had nothing. 


	14. Growing Up

Author's Note: Okay, we're back to Harry now, Bosch  
  
Also: Yes, I am well aware of the fact that Voldemort definitely killed James Potter -- This is why I said that the chapter broke cannon -- It's supposed to be dramatic, not completely accurate  
  
Chapter Fourteen -- Growing Up  
  
A week had passed.  
  
Harry sat in his bed, victim to the sticky heat of a bizarrely warm March night. He picked up the glass of ice water that he kept on the bedside table and took a long sip, relishing in the feeling of cool wetness against his rough, parched tongue.  
  
A week had passed.  
  
Sirius Black had recovered for the most part and was beginning to accept the situation. Tom had apologized and, thanks to Harry's coaxing, had eventually begged Sirius for his forgiveness. Sirius had decided that it was better not to pick a fight with the former Dark Lord and Harry's lover. It was time for Sirius Black to grow up.  
  
A week had passed.  
  
Glamouries were back in place, much to Harry's relief, although Tom looked somewhat older than he had before. He still maintained his attractive sixteen-year-old build but he appeared more mature and more sophisticated now. Light, feathery creases were beginning to appear at the corners of his eyes -- Barely noticeable unless you really looked for them. His posture had improved and he carried himself with an air of old-fashioned dignity. And flecks of gray had finally begun to streak through his hair making it known that Tom Riddle was about to turn seventy-years-old.  
  
Tom Riddle had grown up as well.  
  
A week had passed.  
  
Severus Snape, on the other hand, had taken to blatantly ignoring Harry -- Not bothering to scold him for mistakes or to take points away from Gryffindor for his insolence. Harry had decided that Severus was suffering from the "elephant in the living room" syndrome -- He had a problem sitting right in front of him, as clear as day, but, by refusing to acknowledge it, the Potions Master assumed that the problem would just disappear. Despite the fact that Severus had murdered his father that night, Harry couldn't help feeling a little twinge of pity for Severus. He was a pathetic man.  
  
A week had passed.  
  
Harry looked at the calendar. Tom's seventieth birthday was in two days and he still hadn't picked out a present. The young Gryffindor slid out of bed -- His shirt sticking to his back with sweat. He quickly shed his clothing and began shifting through the closet, looking for something to wear on a trip to Hogsmeade. While he was glancing at a green cotton shirt, a glint of gold caught his eye. His binding ring -- "Wedding band," Harry thought to himself with a smirk. It was a thin gold band -- Very plain and very simple. Engraved on the outside were the words, "Ingressio amor. Prodigus amor. Obligatus amor." Dumbledore had said those words during the ceremony. God, the binding ceremony seemed like it happened an eternity in the past. Harry used his sparse Latin skills to come up with a rough translation: "Begin love. Abound in love. Bind love."  
  
"I hardly ever get to see you looking like that."  
  
Harry whisked around to see Tom Riddle watching him appraisingly. Harry blushed brightly.  
  
"You don't often stand naked in the middle of our bedroom floor," Tom continued. "May I ask what invoked this sudden change in routine?"  
  
"I'm getting dressed," Harry mumbled, pulling down the green shirt and a pair of lightweight khaki pants.  
  
"Don't," Tom smiled, walking up behind Harry and wrapping an arm around his waist. He gently kissed up and down the boy's neck and Harry giggled.  
  
"Stop! That tickles!"  
  
"Children," Tom sighed, rolling his eyes and pushing Harry over to the bed.  
  
"Come on," Harry laughed, falling onto the covers. "Isn't it a bit too warm for this?"  
  
Tom sank down onto the bed, covering Harry's lithe form with his own.  
  
"I don't think so," he murmured, biting gently at Harry's lower lip. "You are so . . ." Tom's lips moved down to suckle the side of Harry's throat. "Wonderful . . . and talented . . . and enchanting . . ."  
  
"Shut up, Tom."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"Where's Harry?" Hermione whispered to Ron. Ron shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. It was Saturday but Professor Trelawney was offering a supplementary course -- "Astrology and You" -- and most of the sixth year Gryffindors had decided to take it along with some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Professor Trelawney was sitting at her desk, staring into a mass of tea leaves, lips pursed together.  
  
"Sit, children, I would like to get started with this . . . Oh, I'm sorry, my dear," Professor Trelawney said, looking at Ron with a sad glint in her eye. "I see the Grim standing behind an old tree."  
  
"Let me guess," Ron said, trying to appear as if he were concentrating on the symbols. "Death -- Of the most bizarre and painful sort."  
  
"Oh yes, my boy! I am quite sorry for you! Luckily, your powers of Divination have informed you of this tragic event."  
  
"How lucky," Hermione said through gritted teeth. Professor Trelawney did not hide her animosity towards the girl.  
  
The sound of footsteps running towards the room and Harry bolted in through the door. Hermione almost laughed out loud. Harry looked completely tousled and severely fucked. His hair was flying in a million different directions. His lips were bruised from avid kissing. His skin still shone with a thin layer of sweat. He sat down in the seat next to Ron, trying not to create any more of a commotion.  
  
"Hm," Ron smiled. "I wonder what you were doing before class."  
  
"Shut up, Ron," Harry said, blushing deeply.  
  
"My children," Professor Trelawney said, rising to her feet. "I would like to begin this class with some examples demonstrating the awesome mystic powers of astrology!"  
  
"The awesome mystic powers of astrology can be yours for only twenty-nine pounds, six pence," Ron said, in the style of an infomercial. Harry restrained his laughter.  
  
"I am currently broadening the sightline of my Inner Eye," Professor Trelawney said. "Someone give me a date of birth."  
  
"September 18th," Lavender Brown said. The entire class burst out into laughter. It was Justin Finch-Fletchley's birthday.  
  
"Ah, my dear, a Virgo! The Virgin sign," Professor Trelawney exclaimed, clutching her hands together joyously. The peals of laughter increased. Harry was very glad the Justin had decided not to attend this class.  
  
"He is an earth sign with his ruling house being the sixth," Professor Trelawney said, seeming deeply introspective at the moment. "His ruling planet is Mercury . . . He's very organized. He works with diligence and dedication. He has a set routine and no sense of spontaneity. He's a little messy and sometimes he shows up for an engagement a few hours too late."  
  
"That's Justin, Professor Trelawney!" Lavender smiled and everyone nodded their head in agreement.  
  
"Oh happy day," Hermione said under her breath. "Professor Trelawney finally got something right."  
  
"Another!" Professor Trelawney insisted. "My Inner Eye feels open to the other world."  
  
"Wait a second!" Ron exclaimed, digging a sheet of paper out of his backpack. Harry recognized the sheet. It was a list that Fred and George had made up, containing the birthdays of all the Hogwarts staff. They had started a tradition last year -- Every faculty member was to have a prank pulled on his or her birthday.  
  
They now had detention for six weeks thanks to McGonagall.  
  
"Ooh! What about April 24th?" Ron asked inquisitively.  
  
"Taurus," Professor Trelawney said knowingly. "Stubborn and grounded -- Very down-to-earth. They're reliable and responsible but they are somewhat inflexible."  
  
"McGonagall," Ron smiled and the entire class laughed. "What about December 23rd?"  
  
"Two days before Christmas?" one of the Hufflepuff girls asked. "Who has a birthday two days before Christmas?"  
  
Ron smiled knowingly. Harry had a feeling that he knew.  
  
"A cuspling," Professor Trelawney said with a smile. "On the brink between two signs -- Capricorn and Sagittarius. I seem to sense that he is more of a Capricorn though. He's motivated and practical. Determination is one of his strong points. He thrives on advancement -- Making his career and his social status one of the most important things in his life. Success is his greatest reward. He demands respect. He has no tolerance for miscalculation."  
  
Ron was gaping, wide-eyed.  
  
"But he's also a Sagittarian. He doesn't deal well with commitment -- Personal commitment I'm going to guess. He doesn't like to be fenced in. He definitely needs his space . . . Very interesting sign. May I ask who this is, my dear?"  
  
"Professor Snape!" Ron exclaimed. "And that is completely him!"  
  
"You have no idea," Harry thought to himself.  
  
"One more," Professor Trelawney said. "And I think that you have a date for me, my dear." She was looking straight at Harry.  
  
"Um, March 21st?" Harry asked, naming off the first birthday that came to mind.  
  
"Oh, how fascinating!" Professor Trelawney smiled. "I know exactly whose birthday this would be, too."  
  
"How do you know, Professor?" Harry asked, curious.  
  
"Because the implications of this sign match his personality beautifully," Professor Trelawney said, her voice filled with glee. "This is Tom Riddle's birthday, is it not, my dear?"  
  
Harry nodded. A hush fell over the room.  
  
"March 21st is the most powerful day of the year. It is on the cusp of Pisces and Aries -- The houses of death and rebirth. Aries thrive for new beginnings. They initiate new projects, enjoying the thrill and power of being the leader. Aries are born to lead, of course. They tend to take action quickly -- They're impulsive and bold. They also happen to be very impatient and, above all things, Aries hate sharing." Harry nodded in understanding. "Aries will not, under any condition, share power, share prestige, share credit, or share lovers. Remember this, my dear. You are a Leo?"  
  
"Yes," Harry confirmed.  
  
"Leo and Aries work well together -- Both fire signs. You might clash at some point but I feel that this will be a very rewarding relationship." She paused for a moment and then added. "Just make sure to allow him to be the initiator -- You know what I mean." She winked knowingly at him.  
  
"I understand," Harry smiled. 


	15. Birthday Celebrations (Part One)

Author's Note: Of course that isn't the end of the trilogy! Twenty-four chapters in each installment -- My keyboard just broke after I spilled a glass of water in it (Sorry for the delay)  
  
Chapter Fifteen -- Birthday Celebrations (Part One)  
  
It was no longer simply flecks of gray.  
  
Tom stared in the mirror, slightly worried. A strand of ebony was a rare occurrence now in the gossamer of Tom Riddle's hair. The thick locks had all turned a sable shade of gray -- Lighter than the jetty hue of his youth but lacking that flagrant white of aging. Tom's hair would never carry the sickly ivory color of Albus Dumbledore's -- Instead, it would only carry gray.  
  
"Would you stop staring at yourself?" Harry smiled, walking out of the bathroom and ruffling Tom's hair playfully.  
  
"I look old enough to be your grandfather," Tom said distastefully.  
  
"Do you want me to be perfectly honest?" Harry asked, pulling on a pair of school robes and quickly buttoning them up.  
  
"Go ahead but remember that I'm turning seventy today," Tom responded, flinching a bit at the word "seventy."  
  
"Yes, you are starting to look older," Harry answered. Tom sighed mournfully. "But I still think you're dashing."  
  
"Thanks," Tom said, raising an eyebrow slightly as Harry ran out the door for class.  
  
Tom turned to examine himself in the mirror once more but he couldn't withhold the smile that was creeping up onto his lips. "You shouldn't be smiling," he scolded. "You're probably going to end up with lines -- Creases and spots and wrinkles and sagging." To be perfectly honest though, other than the gray hair, Tom showed almost no other signs of aging. The slight creases at the edges of the eyes were still there but they were barely apparent and, more than anything, they just helped to give him "character" -- A look of maturity.  
  
"Happy birthday, my dear boy," came a voice from the doorway and Tom turned around to face Albus Dumbledore -- Smile tugging at the sides of his lips, blue eyes twinkling in the morning sunlight. "I'm afraid I have let myself in without an invitation. Your door was unlocked."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Albus," Tom sighed, waving a hand about absently. "Have a seat."  
  
Albus slowly lowered himself onto one of the couches. He showed all of his one hundred fifty years and then some. Tom quickly rose from his seat and headed over to Albus -- To assist the old man in any way possible. The chilled gray of his hair must have caught the sunlight because Albus' smile suddenly broadened ten-fold.  
  
"Ah, my boy! Welcome to the prime of your life!" Albus said, his voice laden with delight.  
  
"What do you mean the 'prime of my life?'" Tom asked stiffly. "I already had my prime back in the late 1970s or sometime around then. One can not experience one's prime twice."  
  
"Are you sure that was your prime, Tom?" Albus asked.  
  
"How could it not have been? I had everything I ever wanted, Albus. I had power and prestige and a legion of loyal followers. And I had Severus . . ." A nostalgic smile crossed Tom's lips. It was a smile that confused Albus Dumbledore immensely. "What more could one ask for than Severus?"  
  
"You loved him that dearly, Tom?" Albus asked curiously. "For some reason, I had the impression that he was simply a servant and nothing more -- A servant that you sometimes had brief . . . liaisons with."  
  
"I would love to know where you were getting your information from," Tom scoffed. "Severus and I were very publicly together. And I loved him more than life . . ."  
  
"More than you love Harry?" Albus asked.  
  
Tom paused for a moment.  
  
"I cannot answer that, Albus," Tom said regretfully, lowering his eyes to the ground.  
  
"Then it was not the prime of your life," Albus said decisively. "You had power that required pain and destruction. And don't you dare pretend that you thrived off of that either."  
  
"You know absolutely nothing about me, Albus," Tom sniffed, looking very aloof.  
  
"I know more than you think I know," Albus replied. "I know that when you were a fifth year, Professor Kettleburn made you dissect a recently deceased Kappa that had washed up on shore. When the blood sprung from its veins, you were the only student in the class to fall down in a dead faint."  
  
"Ah yes," Tom said weakly, slightly nauseous at the memory. "The Kappa -- The most famous demon in Japan."  
  
"Yes," Albus smiled. "Japan and certainly not Mongolia."  
  
"Mongolia?" Tom asked, wrinkling his nose slightly. "Who on earth would say that Kappas are found in Mongolia? You must have hired an extremely uneducated professor, Albus."  
  
Albus kept his mouth shut though it was difficult. Tom hardly noticed. He was back to scrutinizing his reflection. "Vanity," Albus thought to himself, shaking his head forlornly. "God knows how he got by as that disfigured creature all these years."  
  
"I thought glamouries weren't supposed to age anyway," Tom huffed, pulling at a strand of hair. "I thought that I was supposed to look sixteen forever."  
  
"That, my dear boy, is a myth."  
  
"Please tell me this isn't going to get much worse," Tom said, brushing his hair back and sitting down, as if he was resolving not to stare in the mirror any longer.  
  
"I assure you," Albus smiled. "It won't get any worse than this."  
  
"Good," Tom huffed, crossing his arms against his chest.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Double potions class.  
  
Never had torture been so accurately defined than in those three words. Sitting in the damp of the dungeons for the majority of the morning, languishing over steaming caldrons bubbling over with god-knows-what and kept in a state of perpetual fear by the repressed sadist running the class.  
  
Double potions class.  
  
Harry sat down and braced himself for another bout of pain and misery. Hermione automatically took her place next to him, smiling broadly. While the class prepared themselves for the Armageddon otherwise known as "potions class," Severus Snape scrawled notes on the board. Harry had never taken notice of Severus' handwriting before. The potions master wrote in a small script with plenty of flourishes on the first letters of sentences. It was surprisingly flowery and delicate.  
  
"Copy these down," Severus commanded once the class was appropriately settled.  
  
Harry dipped his quill into the ink well and began to scribble the notes in a large, awkward hand. It was the handwriting of a teenage boy -- Messy and oblong (Barely readable, to be quite honest). It was certainly a sharp contrast to Severus' work.  
  
"So today's the birthday," Hermione whispered.  
  
"Yes," Harry replied, a grin washing over his face. "Are you coming to the celebration?"  
  
"Of course! I wouldn't miss it for the world!"  
  
"I think we're going to have to scratch the idea of putting seventy candles on the cake though," Harry said thoughtfully, copying down a few more words.  
  
"Why?" Hermione asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.  
  
"Tom's self-conscious," Harry sighed and Hermione giggled quietly.  
  
"So what did you get him?"  
  
"Yes," came an ice-cold voice from behind the chattering duo. "What does one get the man who has everything?"  
  
Harry spun around in his seat. Green eyes met pitch and the two stared at each other -- Their emotions completely unreadable. The potions master stood before the two -- His back ramrod straight, thick woolen robes covering him from his neck to the heels of his boots. Harry fleetingly remembered that brief glimpse of a shoulder -- Wondering what the vast expanse of Severus Snape's flesh would look like. Was this what Tom and his father had felt for the man? Had their minds also been haunted by these thoughts? By the insatiable curiosity and longing mixed with horror?  
  
"I can't tell you now, Professor," Harry said simply. "You'll just have to come to the celebration tonight and see for yourself."  
  
Harry noticed the temporary shock in Severus' eyes.  
  
"I'll just have to do that. You'd do well to pay attention in my class, Potter."  
  
And with that, Severus turned his back on Harry Potter. 


	16. Birthday Celebrations (Part Two)

Author's Notes: Bored and I don't feel like doing my AP European History paper. I think I'll respond to some reviews:  
  
Bosch: I love that part -- Voldemort is rather amusing in the last chapter  
  
Kim: My Snape and I take offence (Just kidding)  
  
Jessica Black: You'll see . . . (Grins demonically)  
  
Cat Samwise: Yes, doesn't little Severus just seem to make a mess of everything? And, yes, you heard correctly -- Trilogy, twenty-four chapters . . . Brace yourself  
  
Random Slytherin 1: Don't worry, you will be well loved in return (And many snogs await -- "Though I won't specify whom for")  
  
Nagini: Well, I certainly feel bad for Sevvie . . . Then again, at the moment, I feel bad for everyone (Since I know what happens to them all)  
  
Isabeliat: You've foiled my horrid plot structure -- Congratulations! Then again, if Voldemort had just kidnapped Harry and continued going about his evil business, would the plot be anywhere near as interesting? But as for why Voldemort went so easily . . . You'll find out more about that later . . . And I don't really think that Dumbledore and Voldemort hate each other as much as they make themselves out to -- I think they just share a friendly animosity (If such a thing exists)  
  
BlackIris3: Thank you so much (I take a strange pride in my Severus)  
  
Geladwyn: Hurray for the non-words!  
  
Chapter Sixteen -- Birthday Celebrations (Part Two)  
  
1996  
  
It was a hesitant celebration.  
  
The teachers weren't exactly sure how to behave in front of the former Dark Lord and they laughed loudly at every joke (Humorous or not) due to their sheer nervousness. The few students who attended mostly cowered in the corner, only coming forward when they had to, in order to wish Tom Riddle a happy birthday. Only a few people actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. Hermione and Ron were both having a ball -- Chattering away with their best friend and occasionally cracking a joke with Tom. Dumbledore occupied himself with making shining toasts in the way that only Dumbledore can -- "To bipple, forp, gurfus, and plamp!" Tom himself seemed happy enough and Harry would have been in a state of perpetual bliss . . .  
  
But Severus was sitting over in the corner. He had decided to take Harry up on his offer after all and attend the celebration. His arms were casually crossed over his chest and he was slightly slouched. His eyes were grounding into the floor, as if he was afraid to look up. Harry had never seen the Potions Master looking so . . . bitter before. Harry was suddenly very aware of Tom Riddle's arm wrapped around his waist.  
  
"Maybe you should go and say hello to Severus," Harry whispered to Tom when the two of them had been left alone for a moment.  
  
"Why?" Tom asked, a hint of disgust in his voice mixed with other emotions that Harry couldn't discern. "Why would I have any desire to speak to him?"  
  
"Because he loves you, that's why," Harry stated. "It's absolutely cruel to treat him the way that you do."  
  
"You forget that I am not a kind man."  
  
Something about that statement sent a shiver down Harry's spine.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry sighed, exasperated. "I was just trying to help . . ."  
  
"Well, stop trying," Tom snapped, silencing the boy effectively. "I'm going to go talk to . . ." Tom looked around for the first available person. " . . . Dumbledore for a moment."  
  
And, with that, Tom unwound his arm from Harry's waist and went to go find the headmaster for a quick business session.  
  
Harry's eyes drifted back over to Severus.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
1979  
  
"I love you."  
  
The words were unexpected and Severus Snape looked up from the parchment he was desperately scribbling on. He brushed his lanky hair out of his eyes to clearly see Voldemort standing in front of him.  
  
"I love you, you know."  
  
The words were repeated, more forcefully this time. Voldemort stood there, awaiting some sort of confirmation.  
  
"No, you don't," Severus laughed gently, returning to his work. "Of course you don't love me. Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"I love you."  
  
The words were said with a kind of desperation this time. It was a desperation that made Severus look up again and examine Voldemort's eyes closely.  
  
"Do you really?" Severus asked, a sort of awe in his voice.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
1996  
  
"He's not being very agreeable this evening."  
  
The words were unexpected and Severus Snape looked up from the all-too- fascinating carpet. He brushed his lanky hair out of his eyes to clearly see Harry Potter standing in front of him.  
  
"I tried to get him to come over here and speak with you but . . . He wouldn't do it."  
  
"No, I wouldn't expect him to," Severus said tersely, a scowl playing over his lips. "I don't need your sympathies though, Potter. You should know better than that. Now run along."  
  
"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," Harry said softly, making sure that no one could hear him. "You don't ask someone to go to bed with you and then treat them like a child."  
  
Severus tensed significantly in his chair but said nothing. Harry took the opportunity to change topics.  
  
"So what have you been up to lately?" Harry asked.  
  
"Horrible segue, Potter, as always."  
  
"Thank you, Professor, as always."  
  
An odd, awkward silence came over the two of them and, for a while, they sufficed themselves with just staring at one another.  
  
"So," Severus was the one to break the silence, "What did you get him for his birthday?"  
  
Harry jolted up suddenly.  
  
"It's still up in the room! I forgot to bring it down! Oh, that will look great. Tom Riddle's birthday and the only person who forgets to bring a present is me. Excuse me for a second . . ."  
  
And with that, Harry launched up the stairs to their chambers.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -----------------------------------------  
  
Harry Potter was scuffing around the room, picking up stray articles of clothing lying on the floor and moving all of the papers on the desk into haphazard piles.  
  
"This place is such a mess, no wonder you can't find anything in here. God, where is it . . . Where is it . . . Where is it?"  
  
It became his mantra as he scavenged the room, looking for the present.  
  
"This is going to be so humiliating. Where is it?"  
  
"What are you looking for?"  
  
Harry spun around to face Tom Riddle. He was slouched against the doorframe and Harry guessed that he'd probably been there for quite a while.  
  
"None of your business," Harry sniffed, returning to his search. Tom moved across the floor so that he was standing right behind Harry. Hands firmly grasped the Gryffindor's shoulders, ceasing any efforts.  
  
"Are you looking for a present?" Tom asked, breath warm against Harry's ear.  
  
"Maybe," Harry said, glaring at Tom with a look that screamed, "Of course, it's a present! And you better stay out of it, you bloody twit!"  
  
"Well, if you can't find it, you could always compensate for it," Tom smiled, nuzzling against Harry's muss of black hair. His right hand began to deftly unbutton Harry's shirt.  
  
"Not right now, Tom," Harry smiled. "I'm not really in the mood . . ."  
  
"Well I am," Tom said, pushing Harry over to the bed.  
  
"Tom, I just really don't feel like doing this right now . . ."  
  
Harry was shoved onto the comforter and, before he could fight his way up, Tom was on top of him, pinning him down.  
  
"Come on, Tom," Harry said, trying to keep any tremors out of his voice. "There's a party going on downstairs and what are they going to think if we just disappear?"  
  
"They're going to think that it's my seventieth birthday and I can do whatever I please," Tom said, gently biting at Harry's lower lip.  
  
"I really don't want to do this."  
  
Tom laughed slightly. "Do you really think it matters what you want?" 


	17. An Offer to Accept

Author's Note: Yes (sigh) -- It was my goal to make everyone hate me so much that I had to continue this for the sake of making everyone hate me even more (He's MY Tom and if I feel like making him into a complete bastard for posterity's sake, so be it)  
  
Also, this is Severus' last appearance as a major influence so everyone mourn his passing (I can practically hear the cheers in the background)  
  
Chapter Seventeen -- An Offer to Accept  
  
Tom lay awake in bed, after Harry had long since fallen asleep -- His cheeks splashed with tears. The Heir of Slytherin put an arm around his companion in a pointlessly comforting gesture. In a way, Tom seemed to be almost protective of the young boy by his side.  
  
"It's hard, you know," Tom muttered. The words were directed towards the sleeping boy but he spoke more for the benefit of hearing his own voice. "It's hard to give up everything and wander into someplace where you have to carefully re-carve your entire identity. It's hard to jar yourself from routine and it's hard to break old habits and emotions." Tom absently twirled a wisp of the boy's hair around his fingers. "It's hard to become half of a partnership again. God, did I love him though. I loved every essence of his being. I loved his bouts of melancholy and I loved his sparks of genius at two o'clock in the morning. I used to love to sit by his desk and watch him scratch out notes -- recipes -- that I never quite understood. I used to love to lean against his worktable and watch him, bent over that cauldron in almost pious contemplation. I used to love . . ."  
  
Tom let the strand of hair fall into Harry's face and just stared at him -- Clear adoration in his eyes.  
  
"Let the past be the past," Tom sighed. "We went our separate ways long ago. Now, I have you and I don't know what to do with you . . . We're so much alike -- You and I. We have the same courage, the same cut-and-dry ambition, the same unprecedented power . . ."  
  
Tom leaned over and kissed Harry. The sleeping boy kicked off the covers, mewing softly in his sleep.  
  
"I suppose I love you."  
  
That finally said, Tom Riddle curled up next to Harry and closed his eyes for the night.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------  
  
Harry bolted out of bed at around two o'clock that morning. Tom Riddle was still lying there, soundly asleep with a smile planted on his face. Harry felt himself fuming. Something had to be done about this right then and there. Something had to be done to put this indecisive behavior and this unnecessary cruelty to rest. "'Do you really think it matters what you want?' Of course it matters what I want," Harry murmured to himself as he pulled on a robe and tied it tightly. Something needed to be done -- Tom Riddle needed to be hurt. Not a physical hurt, but the kind that embeds its roots in the heart and blossoms forth into every aspect of life until one can barely think nor breath from the relentless pain. That was what Tom Riddle needed to feel.  
  
Harry quietly closed the door behind him and made his way down the various stairwells and corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until he reached his destination.  
  
One . . . two . . . three knocks on the door.  
  
"Who is it? What do you . . ." The door jarred open and Severus looked faintly surprised to see the young boy before him. "What do you want at three in the morning, Potter?" he asked, with a blasÃ© sort of tone.  
  
"I wanted to know if that offer still stands," Harry said, gathering himself up and bracing himself for either acceptance or rejection. A barely noticeable flush came to Severus' cheeks.  
  
"What exactly did Tom Riddle do wrong this time?" he asked, an annoyance clear in his voice.  
  
"Nothing," Harry said matter-of-factly, not wanting to have to discuss his latest exploits with Severus Snape of all people. "I just think that . . ."  
  
"You're doing this for revenge, aren't you," Severus said, the realization dawning on him. "You said 'nothing' perhaps a bit too adamantly." Severus waited for a moment for a response but, when it was clear that he wasn't going to receive one, he continued. "You wouldn't tell Dumbledore about this?" Harry shook his head -- "No."  
  
Severus sighed half-heartedly, "I'll do this for . . . with you but you will regret it in the morning, I have no doubt of that."  
  
"Don't tell me what I will and will not regret," Harry said, shaking off the haunting suspicion that Severus was probably right. "This is something that needs to be done."  
  
"If you believe that then step inside," Severus said, cordially inviting his guest in.  
  
Harry stood in the doorway, considering it for a second. This was blatant disloyalty but . . . No, this was something that needed to be done. Harry confidently stepped inside the room.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -----------------------------------------  
  
Harry didn't wake up until four hours later, at six o'clock in the morning. Severus was already awake and reading from a large volume, jotting down notes in the margins.  
  
"Oh God," Harry said, tumbling out of bed. "What did we do last night?"  
  
"Nothing you didn't want to do, I can assure you that," Severus said, flicking the tip of the quill across the page. "You seemed all too enthusiastic."  
  
"Did I?" Harry asked, rubbing his head. The memory was still foggy but, piece by piece, it began coming back to him in an inane blur. Severus kissing up his collarbone, rubbing himself against Harry's thigh, dipping his mouth down to swirl his tongue around the tip of . . . "Oh god," Harry groaned, smacking his head against the foot of the bed a couple of times. "What am I going to do?"  
  
"Why don't you come over here, sit down, and we can talk about it?" Severus suggested, his lips held in a stern frown. He looked quite the professor at the moment and Harry felt duly uncomfortable sitting down and having a nice heart-to-heart with him. Whatever the case though, Harry skidded over to the couch.  
  
"Now do you want to tell me what Tom did to you?" Severus asked, putting down the quill and leaning back in his chair nonchalantly.  
  
"Well, I said 'no' and he still . . ."  
  
"I see," Severus said, putting up a hand to signal Harry to stop. From this reaction, Harry supposed that Tom did this on a regular basis. Severus pursed his lips together in quiet contemplation. "Did he stay the night?"  
  
"What?" Harry asked, his nose squinching up in distaste. "What do you mean? Of course he stayed the night! Where else would he go?"  
  
Severus looked out the window for a moment, a sense of nostalgia playing about his features. He finally smiled and turned his attention back to Harry. "Tom can always find a place to go. You have my blessing."  
  
Severus picked up his quill and went back to scribbling notes. Harry looked at the Potions Master as if he'd grown another two heads Ã  la Fluffy.  
  
"What do you mean 'You have my blessing?' He just . . . performed indecent actions with me against my will!" For some reason, saying that drawn out phrase sounded so much better than using the word "raped."  
  
Severus sighed and put his quill down again. "Tom is a rash, irresponsible child who believes in taking what he wants without thought to the feelings of others. The fact that he spent the night means that he felt somewhat sorry for his actions. He obviously wanted to offer you some comfort. Tom honestly does love you." They sat there for a moment in silence -- Severus thinking of what to say, Harry dazed. "Tom has issues in any relationship, Harry. He needs to sort them out. Tell him everything that happened tonight and maybe it'll knock some sense into him."  
  
"Aren't you . . . jealous or anything?" Harry asked meekly. "I mean, Tom was yours first and you seemed so . . . hostile last night when I . . ."  
  
"I know when to let someone go," Severus smiled, his eyes suddenly looking so much older. "Tom doesn't need me anymore. He needs you. Holding on to him won't do any good. I need to let him go . . ." Severus poured himself a glass of liquor and swirled it around thoughtlessly in the glass. "Maybe I'll move on to that dashing godfather or yours now . . ."  
  
Harry began to say something in protest but Severus cut him off with a sharp laugh --  
  
"I was only kidding."  
  
Author's Note: That's the next chapter -- Please don't maim me, disembowel me, hang-draw-and-quarter me . . . 


	18. Present

Lengthy Author's Note  
  
I just wanted to thank everyone for all of the kind reviews and e-mails that I've been sent. I'm sorry for that little rant included with the last chapter. I was very touched to learn that -- Although my Severus isn't exactly the picture of ideal -- Some people were sad to see him go. For the ones who will miss him, he might reappear in some other installments. Secondly, I want to apologize for being such an awful fan fic author and for not updating. I've never let a story go so long without an update before. I apologize. I'll be better in the future. And I'd like to thank everyone who has been following this story from the beginning -- Everyone who was a fan of the original "Bound" and will continue to follow this through "From the Rose . . ." to the third part of the series (The adventuresome part and the conclusion). By the way, I would like to respond to some special reviews I've lately gotten:  
  
Slytherin Godess: Thanks for the e-mail! I always appreciate it so much (It completely makes my day!). Glad that you're enjoying the series -- I aim to please (And you'll find out about the birthday present).  
  
Kyoko: I've never been proud of my Dumbledore until now . . .  
  
Tenchi Kaze: It is so refreshing to know that I have converted someone to the Harry/ Tom following! Thank you -- It's been my honor! By the way, you were the one who inspired me to keep writing. I've never had anyone abbreviate my title before into FtRCtT. I always associate abbreviations with those really great fan fics people always write about on message boards -- Fan fics by individuals who have defined a genre. Thanks -- You made me feel extremely accomplished. I hope that I've done something for the Harry/ Tom genre that makes me worthy of my own . . . abbreviation (Smiles warmly at the readers).  
  
Chapter Eighteen -- Present  
  
Ticker ticker.  
  
The clock in the corner of the bedroom interrupted the suffocating silence.  
  
Ticker ticker.  
  
Harry Potter rubbed his sneakered foot against the back of his calf, edging around nervously on the edge of the bed. Tom hadn't spoken a word in over thirty minutes. His mouth remained set in a straight line, not willing to give up any emotion whatsoever. His eyes were fixed on a small crack in the plaster of the wall.  
  
Ticker ticker.  
  
Harry had felt relatively confident walking up the stairs. He would tell Tom his feelings about the entire relationship, he would confess his one-night stand, and then everything would be sorted out between him and the Slytherin. Things hadn't exactly gone the way Harry had planned . . .  
  
Ticker ticker.  
  
Tom wouldn't hear a word of it. It was as if Harry Potter was dank with the scent of Severus Snape. It was as if he was neatly branded by the potion master's touch. Tom didn't have to hear a confession. He simply knew where Harry had been, what Harry had done.   
  
Ticker ticker.  
  
And Tom had just launched into this bout of silence. He sat there, in his catatonic state, his ears closed to everything the Gryffindor child had to say. Harry had tried screaming fits -- Telling Tom about how everything, Harry's every indiscretion, was all his fault. Harry had tried begging -- Falling to his knees and sobbing for forgiveness. Harry had tried logical reasoning -- Explaining to Tom in measured tones why everything was perfectly reasonable. Harry had played the cheapest card -- Bringing up the issue of 1981 and the attempted murder of Harry Potter -- but Tom had remained deathly silent. Finally, Harry himself had fallen into a state of bitter muteness. But that damn clock . . .  
  
Ticker ticker.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
The words were unexpected and Harry started slightly.  
  
"Beg pardon?"  
  
"Just tell me how you feel, Harry."  
  
Tom's voice was raspier than when Harry had last heard it. The last words he had heard -- "Do you think it matters what you want?" -- were said in that sultry tone that was so familiar on Tom's lips. Now, the voice was raspy and harsh. It was as if Tom had been screaming . . . or crying perhaps.  
  
"You're making me feel cheap," Harry said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Do you feel cheap because you slept with Severus?" Tom asked, simply confirming the fact that, yes, he   
knew. Without being told, without have it hinted at or alluded to, Tom Riddle knew.  
  
"No," Harry sighed, lying back and resting his head against the comforter. "I feel cheap because you know the moment I walk through the door." Harry turned and looked at Tom who was staring at him with cold, unresponsive eyes. "Do I look particularly wanton to you?" No response. Harry sat up abruptly. "All you had to do was tell me that you loved me, you know," Harry said, his voice bridging on a yell.  
  
No response.  
  
Harry rose from the bed and walked over to the closet. A suitcase was dragged out, opened, and hastily thrown onto the bed.  
  
"Where are you going?" Tom asked. "You can't go far, you know."  
  
"I have no intention of going far," Harry said, trying to keep the sobs from echoing in his voice. He quickly tugged down some of his school robes, ignoring the finer ones -- The red cloak Tom had given him on the first day of school to calm his shattered nerves, the light blue robe that Dumbledore had given him for what might as well have been his wedding day. Those he left behind. "I'm simply going upstairs in the Gryffindor dormitories."  
  
"Why?" Tom asked idly.  
  
"I can't stand to be with you anymore," Harry responded. "I thought that would be obvious."  
  
Harry quickly slammed the suitcase shut and strode over to the door, determination in his every step. A small parcel on the dresser distracted him though. It had been wrapped with care. The silver-leafed paper had not a crease nor a smudge nor a crinkle that was out of place. It was perfect.   
  
"That's your birthday present," Harry said, turning back to the Heir of Slytherin for a moment. Sure enough, Tom was watching him attentively. "You can open it if you want." Harry began to open the door.  
  
"I love you."  
  
The entire room seemed to freeze momentarily. Harry stood there with one foot out the door, the suitcase still in his hand. Tom sat calmly on the bed, never taking his eyes off of the young Gryffindor.   
  
Ticker ticker.  
  
Harry slowly turned around and closed the door behind him. He refused to put the suitcase down though, as if he were afraid that Tom Riddle would take back those words, as if he were afraid that he might actually have to walk out.  
  
"Say that again."  
  
"I love you." The words were very measured and very firm. The truth in them was undeniable -- It was a truth that echoed in the glint of Tom's eyes, the curve of Tom's mouth, the twitch of Tom's fingers.  
Harry hesitantly picked up the present from the dresser and walked over the bed. He sat down beside Tom Riddle, refusing to look the other boy in the eye.  
  
"This is your birthday present," he said, in his most moderated tones. "I hope that you'll like it."  
  
Tom smiled his thanks.   
  
"It's nice wrapping," he commented softly. He quickly stripped the parcel of the silver-leafed paper and examined what was contained within.  
  
A book -- Nothing particularly special about it. The cover was a rich green tone and the pages were gilded silver but other than that, it was a particularly unexceptional present. Tom noticed that his initials were emblazoned on the front cover though -- TMR. "It's probably some costly volume," Tom thought to himself, flipping open to the first page to discover . . . blankness.  
  
"What is it?" he sniffed, trying not to look completely disappointed.  
  
"Write something in it," Harry sighed, trying not to get discouraged with the Heir of Slytherin. "Introduce yourself."  
  
Tom shrugged and dipped his quill in the jar of ink lying on the bedside table. He quickly scratched the words into the notebook -- "Hello. My name is Tom Riddle."  
  
The words hastily disappeared and were replaced with a large, illegible scrawl.  
  
"Tom, my name is Harry -- But you, of course, knew that."  
  
Author's Note: Short chapter -- Completed at 3:39 in the morning. I will update more later. Once again, thank you. 


	19. A Family Event

Author's Note: The original work I write (i.e. My novel "Setanta" and my assortment of plays) definitely isn't going to be posted at fanfiction.net -- Sorry Jeth, it would just seem out of place here  
  
Chapter Nineteen -- A Family Event  
  
"I don't see why you're so moody," Remus Lupin said, laying the last piece of china down onto the table. It's one of those cheap sets that you get in the five-and-ten stores -- The kind of china painted with traditional blue- and-white designs. You only realize how many cracks and chips are in the dishes when you first get them home. And they looked so nice in the storefront window --  
  
Not like Remus ever cared.  
  
"Sirius?" Remus called up the stairs, hoping that the renegade animagus would hear him. "Sirius? Are you coming? They're going to be here any second now . . ."  
  
"Coming." Sirius' voice was strained and muffled. It sounded almost as if he'd been crying and had just recently stopped. Remus thought for a moment about going up and comforting his one-time friend but there was so much to do . . . The salad still needed to be conjured up, for instance.  
  
"Sirius, are you alright?"  
  
Without further ado, Sirius came trampling down the stairs, a little sniffle here and there. Remus smiled at his rather askew looking companion. Sirius' hair was matted up in tangles again and his cheeks were blotchy. His clothes were wrinkled, his shirt tail half pulled out of his pants.  
  
"'M fine," Sirius murmured, sitting down on the couch. "Just a little worried that's all."  
  
"You're going to be fine," Remus sighed, kissing the top of Sirius' head in a small show of affection.  
  
"It's not me, I'm worried about," Sirius exclaimed, turning to his friend.  
  
Remus smiled -- "No, of course not. You're worried about your godson."  
  
Sirius sighed and slumped back against the cushions. "It's just . . . God, Rem, what has he gotten himself in to?"  
  
"Nothing that he can't handle," Remus said with the utmost confidence. "You have to learn that he's not a child anymore, Sirius."  
  
The doorbell rang -- A high-pitched, intruding sound.  
  
"Are you going to be alright?" Remus asked, quickly conjuring up a round of drinks.  
  
"Just go ahead and answer the door, Remus."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------  
  
Sirius kept his eyes pinned on the "joyful couple" the entire night -- Every action, every word rubbing him the wrong way. Tom gazed at Harry, the glint in his eyes lodged somewhere between proud and lustful. "Don't look at my godson that way," Sirius thought, trying to keep the opinion to himself. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Riddle? You have absolutely no right to . . ." It was when Tom wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders that Sirius really began to lose it, his hands gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned a sickly cream color.  
  
"So what are your plans for after Hogwarts?" Remus asked, completely oblivious to Sirius' silent tantrum.  
  
"Harry's mentioned wanting to become an Auror . . ." Tom stated, beaming at his partner. Sirius' grip on the table increased ten-fold.  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't speak for my godson," Sirius said stiffly. Remus cast a disapproving glare in his direction but Sirius didn't seem to notice.  
  
"It's not a big deal, Sirius," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. He kept his eyes downcast at all times -- As if he were carefully examining the china.  
  
A palpable silence fell over the table.  
  
"We're thinking about moving out of town," Tom said quickly, desperate to break the tension. Sirius looked as if he were about to go into cardiac arrest.  
  
"No, you're not," he said definitely. It was a statement leaving no room for discussion.  
  
That had never stopped Tom Riddle before.  
  
"Harry expressed an interest in moving up to Northumbria," Tom commented, as if he hadn't even heard Sirius' tempermental outburst. "Near my hometown. I have so many awful memories of that abysmal ditch."  
  
"In that case, why would you want to move there?" Sirius snapped. Remus rolled his eyes slightly, conjuring a cup of mint tea for the excitable convict. Sirius automatically reached for the sugar bowl.  
  
"Accio sugar," Remus whispered under his breath. The sugar bowl quickly skidded across the table, taking its position directly in front of the werewolf. Sirius glared at Remus, his teeth bared in exasperation. "Can't have you getting excited," Remus explained. He automatically turned his attention back to Tom. "You were saying something about your hometown?"  
  
Tom took a moment to stiffle his laughter before answering the question. "Yes, Little Hangleton. Dreadful, absolutely dreadful . . ."  
  
"It's actually a charming little village," Harry corrected, despite some protests from Tom Riddle. "Old money, you know."  
  
"And he's sounding like a Malfoy already," Sirius commented between clenched teeth. "Since when did money ever matter to you, Harry? I thought you were above all of that pure-blood, old-money nonsense. Obviously, it's all in the company you keep . . ."  
  
"Could you please stop being so damned cruel?" Harry asked, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "It has absolutely nothing to do with that. I'm simply saying that it would be safe for us -- Safe and secluded and that's what I need right now."  
  
"We're your family, Harry," Sirius argued, not willing to back down. "You're not going to move away from us. At the end of the day, you'll still have us. Who knows where he'll run off to?"  
  
"I'll still have you? Where were you for the first eleven years of my life then?" Harry shouted, knowing perfectly well that it was a cheap shot to take. Instantly, Sirius backed down. His eyes downcast, he wrung his hands together -- As if that sole actions would wash all of the hurt, all of the neglect, all of the blood away.  
  
The guilt kicked Harry in the stomach like a lead pipe. "I'm sorry, Sirius," Harry said quietly.  
  
"Yeah," Sirius murmured under his breath, getting up from his seat and excusing himself from the table without another word.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------  
  
The guest bedroom was small -- Completely decorated in a printed rosebud pattern from Blands. Remus' house was the absolute picture of country living, no doubt about that. Harry covered himself up with the down comforter, resting his head against the pillow. Trying to forget his pettiness and relinquish his soul to sleep.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Tom said, settling in next to the young Gryffindor. "You're godfather will come to his senses in the morning."  
  
"I hope so," Harry sighed. "He's the only family I have left, you know." It occurred to him a few seconds later what an idiotic statement that was -- "Of course he knows that Sirius is the only family you have left," Harry thought to himself. "After all, he was the one who had your mother and father killed."  
  
"Family can mean a lot," Tom muttered, his voice pitched with empathy.  
  
"I'll never understand that," Harry commented. "How can you know how much family means? Doesn't it mean anything to you? The fact that you don't have a family due to the fact that you murdered them all -- Your father and your grandparents?"  
  
Tom tensed slightly under these words. His eyebrows knitted together and his lips contorted into a tight frown.  
  
"I never had a family," he replied sharply. "Those . . . muggles meant absolutely nothing to me."  
  
"If they meant nothing to you, why did you go after them?" Harry asked logically. Tom remained silent for a moment, contemplating the question.  
  
"I'm sure that your godfather will come to his senses in the morning."  
  
"Nice," Harry scoffed. "Backing out like that takes real Gryffindor courage."  
  
"That's why I'm a Slytherin," Tom smiled, leaning forward and gently kissing the rise of Harry's cheekbone.  
  
"I hope you're right about my godfather," Harry yawned, closing his eyes against the world and its problems. "After all, he does mean more to me than anyone in the world."  
  
"Oh." Tom arched one eyebrow slightly. "G'night then." --------------------------------------------------------------------------- - ------------------------------------------  
  
After Harry had fallen asleep, Tom opened up the diary and quickly scrawled out a message:  
  
"Hello Harry. I just was wondering if I could ask you a question . . ."  
  
The ink dissolved into the fibers of the paper and a response was formed.  
  
"Ask away, Tom."  
  
"Who means more to you -- Sirius or me?"  
  
"You, of course. Why on earth would you ask such an idiotic question?"  
  
"Just wondering." Tom scratched the words into the diary and then shoved the volume into a dresser drawer. Smiling contently to himself, Tom Riddle (who was also extremely petty at times) closed his eyes and fell asleep. 


	20. Interception

Author's Note: My apologies -- I've been suffering from writer's block lately -- And, as always, I apologize for the short chapters  
  
For those who asked, Chapter Nineteen was simply an interlude -- I wanted a break from all of the Tom/ Harry angst -- Think of it as taking place about a few weeks after Chapter Eighteen  
  
And thanks to Sparks (and Sophie Black)  
  
Chapter Twenty -- Interception  
  
Lucius Malfoy, cloaked in black, paced back and forth across his chambers. His lips were pursed in silent contemplation, his hands clenched behind his back. Draco slouched on the window seat, studying a volume on the Dark Arts. Every now and then his kittenish eyes would peer up to observe his father.  
  
"Are you alright, Father?" Draco asked, closing the book and pushing it aside. "You seem so . . . distracted."  
  
"Not at all, Draco," the current Dark Lord muttered. "There's a difference between distracted and pensive, my child."  
  
"Oh," Draco sighed, sliding from the window seat onto the carpet. He paused for a moment -- His eyes carefully examining his father's boots. He'd seen those boots before: The sunbleached chestnut boots with the bronze tipped heel. Severus Snape, Hogwarts' esteemed Potions Master, owned an identical pair. "What are the Circles of Aralise?" Draco questioned, his eyes still locked on the cool glimmer of bronze. "Why are they so important?"  
  
"The Circles of Aralise are a confidential matter," Lucius snapped, his lips contorting into an impatient scowl. Draco recoiled as if his father had slapped him. Lucius spoke again, softer this time: "They are of no concern to you, Draco. You'll find out soon enough."  
  
Sitting down on the floor, Lucius gathered his son's porcelain body into his arms. "When I was your age," Lucius whispered, his breath sweet against Draco's flesh, "I was extremely ambitious. I wanted power and prestige above all things, of course. I also wanted to be loved . . ." Lucius laid his tardy lips against his son's cheek, kissing him gently. "But I wasn't the only one who wanted affection and companionship." Lucius' eyes darkened to the gray of a tempest and spent lightening flickered behind the pupils.  
  
Lucius remembered back in 1979 when Voldemort had fawned over that lanky child with the edgy black eyes. He remembered the time when a Malfoy had to gnaw on the muscles of his cheeks to keep from lashing out. He remembered being forgotten -- The pretty blonde plaything tossed into a darkened corner. Lucius remembered all of the ridicule he faced: "You have no self- respect, no integrity. You'll hopelessly degrade yourself if you think it will advance your place in the world by any means. Why, look at you now! The subservient slut! For God's sake Lucius, put your legs together and act modestly for once."  
  
"You were so mistaken, Tom," Lucius thought to himself. "I degraded myself because I thought that it might bring you pleasure. I never slept with you for power and prestige. There are far more effective ways to reach those goals. I slept with you simply because I wanted to."  
  
Lucius remembered the mockery that had ensued: "I assure you. I do not want that boy for physical gratification. I admit that even the thought of bedding Severus Snape makes me ill. As you have so prominently noted, his physical traits are lacking . . . And that is putting the matter mildly. He's a horrid little thing."  
  
In 1979, Lucius peered through the crack in Voldemort's door and saw them together for the first time. Voldemort, so elegant even in the grips of passion, thrusting himself into that insolent child spread before him. Severus Snape, the pride of the potions department, lying under the Dark Lord with his legs spread. "Yes Tom," Lucius thought to himself. "I'm sure that you were thinking 'what a horrid little thing' when you were pounding him into the mattress."  
  
Draco squirmed his way out of the tight embrace and laid his head on his father's boots, gently licking the toe with the tip of his tongue -- Rough and pink.  
  
"You're the only thing that matters now, Draco," Lucius announced, smoothing his son's hair back with the palm of his hand. "Nothing else -- No one else -- is more important than you. Everything I do, child, is done with your future in mind. The Circles of Aralise will be defended. We will conquer." A pause as Lucius' thumb ran over Draco's bottom lip.  
  
"You will be great."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Tom Riddle sat at his desk, scribbling out sequences of numbers onto a piece of paper. His eyes squinted slightly and he bit his tongue in concentration. "Ninety-three . . . Sixty-eight . . . Forty-two . . . Eighty- three . . . And . . ." He paused for a moment, thought to himself, and then continued jotting down more numbers. Harry, meanwhile, sat on the edge of the bed -- Obviously bored.  
  
"Do you want to go play some Quidditch?" Harry asked suddenly, rocking back and forth against the mattress causing the springs to creak.  
  
"Twenty-five . . . No, not really . . . Fifty-nine . . ."  
  
Harry glanced out the window. "How about going down to Hogsmeade? We could grab a glass of butterbeer and stop by a couple of the shops?"  
  
"Thirty-two . . . Ninety-eight . . . No, thank you . . . Forty-seven . . ."  
  
"What are you working on that's so important anyway?" Harry sighed, beyond exasperated.  
  
"Just those projects," Tom said vaguely, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Nothing too important." Tom bit down on his pencil, embedding teeth marks into the wood. "Why don't you go downstairs and . . ." He paused for a moment, taking down another series of numbers. "And visit your friends or something?"  
  
Harry stared shrewdly at his partner. "Yeah," he finally announced. "Ron and Hermione are probably preoccupied since we have that potions paper due tomorrow . . . But you know, I'm sure Severus is free. I could probably go down and visit with him."  
  
"Sounds like a good idea," Tom replied, his eyes never leaving the expanse of parchment.  
  
"You aren't listening to a word I'm saying," Harry declared, getting up from the bed and walking over to stand beside Tom. "I just want to spend some time with you," he admitted, kissing the fabric clothing Tom's shoulder. "You always seem to be busy though . . ."  
  
"I'm sorry," Tom said, putting his pencil down and looking up at the Gryffindor. "I just have to get this work done. Look -- I'll be through with this later tonight and then we can spend some quality time together. I'll take you out for a walk or something."  
  
"How exciting," Harry scoffed. "A walk."  
  
"You're horrid," Tom laughed, kissing Harry on the side of his neck. "I understand. Things haven't been too . . ." Tom sighed, thinking of the words to use. "Our relationship isn't the best one, I know . . ."  
  
"Did you ever expect it to be perfect?" Harry laughed, leaning against the back of the chair. "Besides, we're working on it."  
  
Tom paused for a moment, reaching to squeeze one of Harry's hands in his own.  
  
"I'll be done in a couple hours," Tom said, picking his pencil up again and studying his number sequences. Harry headed out the door. "Oh and Harry . . ."  
  
The Gryffindor pivoted on his heels.  
  
"If you go down to see Severus, I'll come and fetch you myself."  
  
Author's Note: Next time -- The plot thickens 


	21. The War Begins

Prolonged Author's Note: Well, I've decided to continue FtRCtT. I've really lost all inspiration for this piece (especially with "Szajha" on the pallet, as well). However, I'd feel guilty abandoning this piece when I've come this far (However, I re-read "Bound" and think it's absolutely hilarious how far I've come as a fan fiction author over the past year). I would like to thank all of the rabid fangirls who e-mail me -- I wouldn't continue writing if it weren't for you. I would like to thank everyone who reviews incessantly. I was really shocked to read the reviews for another TR/HP piece ("Apologies and Past Mistakes") and find that readers were defending my ideas. Thank you for that -- It means a lot to me.  
  
I won't lie to you -- I've become a bit uncomfortable in this genre since TR/HP became more mainstreamed, more popular. "Bound," of course, was one of the first (if not the first) TR/HP serials on the Internet and, back then, I'm sure it was innovative. Now, it just seems tired and slightly cliched (one of the reasons why I prefer "Szajha" which has artistic merit). But, anyway, thank you once again to all of my readers -- I love you all and I apologize for my severe lack of updates. I'll try to be better in the future.  
  
By the way, yesterday marked my one-year anniversary of writing fan fiction. Thank you for many wonderful memories.  
  
Happy Christmas, everyone!  
  
Chapter Twenty-One -- The War Begins  
  
Tom Marvolo Riddle sat at one of the tables in the Great Hall -- Something he normally refused to do while the students were loitering about. He scratched out some numbers onto a piece of parchment, paused for a moment, and then slammed the quill down onto the table. A dozen pairs of eyes rested on the Heir of Slytherin as he rose from his place at the table, shoving the paperwork into a leather satchel.  
  
"Something not agreeing with you?"  
  
Tom spun around to face Hermione Granger, one of the infamous Trio. He took a deep breath and brushed his hair back out of his eyes, trying to make himself look presentable.  
  
"Hermione," he sighed. "Fancy meeting you here. Actually, I was just finishing up some project for Professor Dumbledore . . ."  
  
"What kind of projects?" Hermione asked, childish curiosity in her tone.  
  
"Secret projects," Tom smiled indulgently. "Now, how is your schoolwork coming along?"  
  
"Don't patronize me," Hermione scowled, sitting down at one of the tables and unloading a massive leather-bound book from her bag. "I'm just reading up on the subject of medicinal magic. With a war brewing, it's bound to be useful."  
  
"What do you know about the war?" Tom asked, peering over Hermione's shoulder at a recipe for Pepper Up potion.  
  
"Not much," the girl admitted. "I've heard that Lucius Malfoy is on the rise, taking his place among the Death Eaters as the new Dark Lord. Malfoy doesn't have tact enough to bide his time . . . the battles will begin soon, don't you think?"  
  
Hermione was terrified. Tom knew the feeling well -- It was the sort of fear that concealed itself behind jaded logic. Tom hesitantly unbuttoned his cloak and placed it around Hermione's shoulders. The girl looked up at him, surprised.  
  
"It's chilly in here," Tom explained. "You'll catch your death."  
  
And Tom Riddle didn't know what else to say.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"The war is just on the horizon," Minerva McGonagall sighed, leaning back into the armchair. "The Death Eaters will, undoubtedly take the first blow. I only hope that it won't be at Hogwarts. We're not prepared to defend ourselves, Albus. You know that . . ."  
  
"I don't think that we need to worry about being the first victims of this unfortunate conflict. Lucius will think twice before attacking Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm certain of that. Besides, there are many other vital locations that the Death Eaters need to gain control of."  
  
"He'll attack Azkaban first," Tom declared, sipping lukewarm mint tea from a tumbler. "He needs to form an alliance with the Dementors and gain control of any political prisoners that might be useful to him -- the Lestranges for instance." Tom smiled half-heartedly at the name. "After that, Lucius will turn his attentions to the mountain areas, trying to win over the giants. That will give us a couple of weeks at most."  
  
"And after the mountains?" Albus asked, extracting a peppermint stick from a nearby jigger and sucking on the end. "Where will he strike after the mountains?"  
  
"The headquarters of the Ministry of Magic in London," Tom replied. "Without the Ministry, the wizarding world in this portion of Europe will be thrust into chaos. Then the path will be cleared and Lucius will attack Hogwarts . . ."  
  
"And once he gains control of Hogwarts . . ." Albus mumbled, candy lodged between his lips.  
  
"Once he gains control of Hogwarts, the children will be lost. We will all be lost."  
  
"How do you know all this?" Professor McGonagall asked, eyeing Tom with familiar suspicion.  
  
"I trained him," Tom answered tersely. "I know my own strategies, after all."  
  
"Our children aren't prepared." Albus rose to his feet and shuffled over to the window. "The past few Defense against the Dark Arts professors have been inadequate. Their experience in dueling and self-defense is lacking. They'll never be able to stand against a horde of Death Eaters." Albus stared vacantly out of the window for a few moments -- out onto the muddy grounds of Hogwarts and the storm cloud sky looming above it.  
  
"Your time has come, my child," Albus whispered, extending a hand. Tom eyed the flesh -- peach-hued paper crumpled over bone. He took in the cracked cuticles, the dirt-stained fingernails. Those hands had formed thousands of children into adults.  
  
Those hands had helped to form Tom Riddle.  
  
Tom entwined his fingers around the Albus' wrist, pressing his cheek against the palm in a show of affection.  
  
"Train them well, Tom Riddle," Albus smiled, never taking his eyes off of the sky.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------  
  
"I'm to serve as the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor," Tom Riddle announced later that evening. He was lying in bed next to Harry Potter, reading a volume on useful enchantments for warfare -- a pair of lop-sided reading glasses perched far down onto his nose.  
  
"You? A professor?" Harry smirked, tossing the latest newsletter from the International Association of Quidditch onto the bedside table. "Good luck with your classes. They'll be cowering under their desks while you attempt to instruct them."  
  
"I think I'll be a competent professor," Tom sniffed. "You have to agree that I'm more tolerable than Gilderoy Lockhart."  
  
"A lichen is more competent than Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry laughed, burrowing under the covers. "I'm simply saying that the students are somewhat frightened of you. That might make it difficult to teach them . . ."  
  
"Hush up," Tom snapped, extinguishing the oil lamp and casting the room into shadows. Harry buried his face in the cotton fabric of Tom's nightshirt, inhaling the cinnamon-sweet. Harry's diminutive hands traced the lines of Tom's body -- the sharp lines of his ribcage, the smooth plains of his flanks. Finally, the two palms came to rest on his thighs -- fingers rubbing small circles into the flesh.  
  
"Are you going to let me get some rest?" Tom asked, a smile curving the edges of his lips.  
  
"Never," Harry whispered, breath moist against the shell of Tom's ear. "Is it against school regulations to proposition one of my professors?"  
  
"Oh Gods," Tom chuckled, wrapping an arm around Harry's waist. "You've already slept with one professor this semester. What's the use of adding another one to the count?"  
  
"Ew," Harry shuddered, remembering that ill-fated night spent with Severus Snape. "Don't remind me of that, you twit. It was a mistake -- a really awful mistake."  
  
"Silence child," Tom smiled, kissing just below Harry's bottom lip. "Don't forget that we're talking about the man I was in love with."  
  
"That verb is in the past tense."  
  
"I suppose I can't be in love with two people at the same time, then."  
  
"I'm somewhat possessive, I'm afraid."  
  
"So am I."  
  
The two of them lay there in silence for a few minutes, simply relishing the peace. After all, a moment of contentment was a rare occurrence for either one of them. Fighting each other had exhausted them though . . .  
  
"I can't win this war alone," Harry suddenly declared -- a brief splotch of seriousness on an otherwise playful conversation.  
  
"Who said you'll be alone?"  
  
"Will you stand beside me?" Harry asked, grasping one of Tom's hands -- clinging to it so that Tom could never pry away. "When my protectors begin to fall, when Hogwarts is under siege, will you stand beside me then? When everything appears to be hopeless, will you give me faith?"  
  
"All this and more," Tom said, kissing the tips of those fingers -- those fingers that had yet to see warfare.  
  
"Love me," Harry commanded.  
  
And that was all there was to it. 


	22. In His Hands

Author's Note: Oh, I love you all! Thank you for so many inspiring reviews! I want to especially thank Hilzarie Potter, Cat Samwise (Thanks always, Cat!), lostgirl, candy, and Narya (Wow -- It's extremely nice to be thought of as Tom). Four hundred reviews!  
  
Chapter Twenty-Two -- In His Hands  
  
Tom Marvolo Riddle, reluctant Hogwarts professor, stood at the front of the classroom. The desks were decidedly empty but the anxiety was beginning to build. He could feel it churning in the pit of his stomach like carbonated water against the sides of a tumbler. The students would be waiting for him to give them direction. So many impressionable young minds, waiting for him to craft them into adulthood. Waiting for Tom Marvolo Riddle -- the one- time Dark Lord -- to craft them into adulthood.  
  
Why hadn't he realized the responsibilities of a professor before?  
  
Tom sighed deeply, wiping his palms on the front of his robe. "Just relax, Tom," he thought to himself, shaking his graying hair out of his eyes, trying to grasp some composure. "After all, these children are better of in your hands . . ."  
  
And Tom heard the click-clack of heels out in the corridor.  
  
"Oh god," Tom groaned, slumping down into the nearest chair. "I wasn't meant to be a professor . . ." Tom dragged a sheet of paper out from his upper desk drawer -- the schedule.  
  
First Class -- Gryffindors and Slytherins (6th years)  
  
"Of all the houses -- It had to be my own," Tom grumbled, pushing the schedule onto the floor. Tom's bout of antipathy towards the Slytherin students had not gone unnoticed. Many of the children had felt betrayed by their resident heir -- especially due to the fact that he seemed to favor the Gryffindors (Not to mention the fact that he was romantically involved with the Gryffindor Golden Boy). "Well, at least there's Harry . . ."  
  
The door creaked open to reveal the infamous Trio -- Ron, Hermione, and Harry. They sauntered into the room and took their places, taking out their textbooks and their wands. Tom smiled graciously.  
  
"G'morning Professor Riddle," Ron muttered, dipping his quill into the nearest inkwell.  
  
"Good morning Mister Weasley," Tom nodded. The newly designated professor noticed that a crowd of children had gathered in the doorframe, peering into the classroom nervously. "You may all come in, if you please," Tom called and there was a collective shudder throughout the student body. One by one, they shuffled into the room -- their eyes locked on the floor at all times. They straggled into their seats and waited for the class to begin.  
  
"Right," Tom breathed, taking in the wide eyes and tight-lipped frowns. He took temporary solstice in Harry's nonchalant grin before continuing. "Attendance. Your professors call attendance every class, correct?"  
  
"Yes Professor," Hermione responded -- speaking up when no one else dared.  
  
"Right then. Lavender Brown?"  
  
A trembling Gryffindor in the back row sputtered, "H-h-here."  
  
"Oh god," Tom sighed, shaking his head somberly. "Look -- I don't know what you're all thinking but I'm here to teach you, not hex you into oblivion." Another one of those collective shudders. "So you can all relax in my classroom."  
  
No one relaxed.  
  
"Millicent Bulstrode?"  
  
The Slytherins weren't half as meek as the Gryffindors. They spoke with a tinge of resentment, a slight chip of each of their shoulders -- "Here," they would bark, making themselves known throughout the classroom. Tom had to admit -- Gryffindors might be brave but Slytherins were bold.  
  
The names were read off one by one -- Vincent Crabbe, Seamus Finnigan, Gregory Goyle, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom . . . Well, they had a slight problem with Neville Longbottom who almost fainted dead away when Tom Riddle called out his name. Luckily, Hermione was able to revive him in record time. Draco Malfoy . . . A sharp glare from Lucius' son, as was to be expected. Pansy Parkinson, Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini . . .  
  
"You forgot me . . . sir," Harry commented, the word "sir" sounding extremely awkward in this situation.  
  
"Tom, please," the professor quickly corrected. "Harry Potter?"  
  
"Present, Tom."  
  
"Right. I've become aware of the fact that your training has been rather . . . lacking over the past couple years. Your professors have been fairly inadequate, is that correct?"  
  
"Yes, sir." The answer was from one of the Gryffindors -- Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnigan nodded his head sharply in agreement.  
  
"I find that the best way to begin a Defense against the Dark Arts class," Tom announced, scribbling some words onto the blackboard, "is with the Dark Arts themselves. Does anyone know how to cast an Unforgivable?"  
  
"Professor Moody went over some aspects of Unforgivable Curses," Hermione answered.  
  
"Constant vigilance!" one of the students exclaimed and the entire class erupted into peals of laughter. Tom, familiar with the world-renowned Auror, smiled. Yes, that was like Alastor, wasn't it?  
  
"Good. Well, at least we have a starting point then. Are you all capable of casting an Unforgivable?"  
  
"No," stated an extremely adamant Neville Longbottom. It was the first time that Tom had heard the Longbottom child speak. It didn't surprise Tom that Neville was concerned about using an Unforgivable -- after all, Tom remembered the child's parents under the Cruciatus curse . . .  
  
"Right," Tom nodded, making a note on a scrap of parchment about Longbottom's aversion to the Unforgivable Curses. "That's where we'll begin then -- casting an Unforgivable Curse."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"Avada Kedavra," Harry sighed, swishing his wand from right to left in a half-hearted motion. "Avada Kedavra . . . Avada Kedavra . . ."  
  
"How on earth did you get to be the savior of the wizarding world?" Tom exclaimed, stepping forward and grasping the boy's wand firmly in mid-air before he could make another feeble attempt.  
  
"I think you know that," Harry smirked.  
  
"If you don't put forth the effort, Harry, you know I can't do anything to help you. You have to learn how to defend yourself . . ." Harry rolled his eyes like an annoyed child. "I know you've heard this lecture thousands of times before, Harry. But you have to trust me on this. If the day comes when you are forced in battle and you cannot defend yourself, you will be killed."  
  
"I've survived until now," Harry countered sharply. "I've survived everything that's happened to me so far. I'll survive in battle."  
  
"Don't be overly-confident," Tom warned, extracting his wand from the inside pocket of his robe. "Try casting it once more. And actually try this time."  
  
Harry sighed with mock-fatigue and straightened up. He held his wand out and, with a clean-cut movement, he cast his spell: "Avada Kedavra."  
  
A flash of green light. An unsettling silence.  
  
The mouse that had been placed in the middle of the room lay dead.  
  
"Perfect," Tom breathed, his pupils dilated to an unsettling degree. "Absolutely perfect. You're a natural, Potter. I always knew you would be . . ." There was something chilling in Tom's demeanor, like man who sensed power and would try to contort it to his own will. Old habits never truly go away after all . . .  
  
Harry stood there for a moment or two, just staring at that dead mouse in the middle of the classroom. Then, suddenly, he dropped his wand onto the cobblestone floor.  
  
"I think I'm going to ill," he proclaimed before bolting out of the classroom, slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
"Well . . ." Tom stammered, somewhat unnerved by the display. "Miss Granger, I believe it's your turn . . ."  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
"It's the spell that was used to murder your parents, is that what bothered you?" Ron asked later that evening while polishing up Harry's broomstick for the Quidditch match the next day. Harry had been skittish since casting the Killing Curse and, although Ron didn't want to push him, he was somewhat curious.  
  
"Yeah, partially," Harry mumbled, sitting on the windowseat in the Gryffindor dormitory. "It also just seems so . . . strange. Casting a curse like Avada Kedavra in front of Voldemort . . ." The name was said with a level of distaste that Ron rarely heard Harry use. "It just makes me uncomfortable, that's all."  
  
"Maybe Tom wasn't the best candidate for Defense against the Dark Arts," Ron shrugged. "Maybe he's better off being a . . ." Ron paused for a moment. "What exactly does Tom Riddle do at this school?"  
  
"He's working on some projects for Dumbledore," Harry replied. "But I don't know anything about them. He refuses to discuss them." Harry sighed half- heartedly, tugging the curtains closed. "Tom's a wonderful Defense against the Dark Arts professor. I'm just not ready to train under him, I suppose . . ."  
  
"God, that's right," Ron laughed, the idea striking him as obscenely funny. "We're being trained by Lord Voldemort!" 


	23. On the Horzion

Author's Notes: Almost 450 reviews -- And that's a lot of reviews  
  
For the record, there's the reference at the end of this chapter to "Joselyn Bisset" -- an OC who appears in another series which might be posted someday (if I ever feel she's worthy enough of public scrunity -- She's been slightly tempermental over the past couple months)  
  
Chapter Twenty-Three -- On the Horizon  
  
"Tom, are we almost done?"  
  
The damp heat of the room was beginning to weigh all of the students down. They had been steaming monkshood since 1:00 that afternoon. The process was tedious: Heat up gallons of water in a bronze-plated cauldron, put leaves of monkshood into a net, hold it directly above the water and wait . . . and wait . . . and wait . . . Harry Potter glanced at himself in a near-by looking glass (which, magically, remained unsteamed) -- His clothes hung in loose folds around his body (and had attained a charming mildew-smell) and his hair was plastered to his face. "Charming," he sighed, removing yet another batch of monkshood and putting it to the side. Thirty minutes and it would be steamed again -- three times for each batch.  
  
"Complicated procedure, I know." Tom Riddle flipped one of the nets upside down and watched as a gloppy mass fell into the jar. His nose crinkled in distaste. "However, this is the primary ingredient in which potion, Miss Granger? I know you've been reading up on your medicinal magic."  
  
"The Heal-All Potion," Hermione proclaimed, taking the jar from Tom and labeling it. "But don't they market this? It's primarily used for cuts and bruises."  
  
"The kind you buy off the shelf at Slug and Jiggers is a bit different than this," Tom said, preparing another batch of monkshood to be steamed. "This is far more potent. It instantly cures minor wounds and . . ." A cough, invoked by the steam. " . . . A couple of gradual doses will take care of major wounds -- including some potentially fatal ones. Remember children, you should always have at least one dose of Heal-All Potion on you at all times."  
  
They set another batch of leaves on the cauldron to steam. Tom Riddle sighed, taking off his pair of leather gloves and throwing them onto the worktable. "I'm going to step out for a moment. Put the last batch on in fifteen minutes. That should take . . . about two hours. Make sure that everything is packaged and shelved. Clean up and then meet me outside on the Quidditch pitch."  
  
"Where do you think you're going?" Harry asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.  
  
"Oh, nowhere."  
  
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"I can't believe he just left like that," Ron groaned, taking the last batch of monkshood off the steamer. "Couldn't even stay to finish his own project. Instead, he just leaves us to suffer. Dean, could you wash up the cauldrons?"  
  
"Right on it," Dean said. He poured a jug of cold water into the cauldron and watched as steam-heat came hissing out of the vessel. "Wicked."  
  
"Everything is packaged and shelved," Hermione confirmed, putting down her quill and washing any ink stains off of her fingers. "Neville, package the remaining monkshood -- the unsteamed monkshood. I think we're going to donate all of that to the potions laboratory. And then all we have to do is wash up the tables and we're done."  
  
"And without managing to destroy the potions laboratory in the process."  
  
Severus Snape stood at the back of the classroom, appraising what the students were leaving in their wake. Harry shuddered unconsciously. It had become difficult -- being in Severus Snape's presence. They had become too . . . involved. Potions class had become an almost painful experience.  
  
"Who assigned this project? Professor Riddle?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Hermione answered. "Medicinal magic." She carefully shelved the final jar of steamed monkshood. "We thought that you had a bit too much on your hands -- with the preparations for the war and all. So we decided to take care of some of the preparatory work -- like steaming the monkshood. If you want, we could probably finish the potion . . . We're probably going to need a lot of it, sir."  
  
"Thank you, Miss Granger. That is very helpful of you -- all of you." Severus' lips twisted into an attempted smile. Anyone else might call it a "mockery of a smile" but Harry knew that it was sincere. "Run along now. I believe I saw Professor Riddle out on the Quidditch pitch."  
  
"I don't even know if I want to see that git," Ron muttered. "He ran off and left us in the middle of a batch."  
  
"Oh, I think he'll make it worth your time, Mister Weasley," Severus said, sweeping into his office and shutting the door behind him.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
The students trudged out onto the Quidditch pitch -- robes damp, faces sweaty. Ron was the first one to see exactly what Professor Snape was talking about. Out on the Quidditch pitch were enough magical sweets to feed a small village. Boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, buckets of Fizzing Whizbees and Pepper Imps, containers of Acid Pops (although Ron would make it a point to stay away from those -- bad memories and the lot), Licorice Wands and Sugar Quills, a barrel of Chocolate Frogs and, oh!, chocolate! Slabs and slabs of chocolate! More candy than any child could eat on a stormy April afternoon. And it was all there -- spread out before them in an astronomical feast.  
  
Tom Riddle staggered out from the broomshed -- his arms wrapped around a gigantic vat of treacle fudge.  
  
"Thank you, Hagrid," Tom exclaimed, struggling under the weight of the container. "Would you mind giving a hand?" No response. Tom sighed and began the trek across the Quidditch Pitch. Immediately, a swarm of children ran over to assist him. After a buzz of "thank you"s, the treacle fudge was taken up and deposited near the rest of the sweets.  
  
"Where did you get all of this?" Harry asked in a state of awe.  
  
"Stopped by Honeydukes," Tom smiled. "Figured that you all deserved a little something after all your hard work. Now, don't eat all of this at once . . ."  
  
"Is that possible?" Ron asked, boggled by the sheer magnitude of sweets.  
  
"Perhaps," Tom laughed. "Whatever you don't eat today is going to be stored in the pantries. I want to keep some of this for when the war starts -- especially the chocolate." Tom gave a little warning glance to Neville who had already launched into the chocolate. "Harry, could I have a word or two?"  
  
"Sure," Harry shrugged and the two of them started off towards the broomshed together.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------  
  
Twenty minutes later and a word had yet to be spoken.  
  
Harry, always somewhat sentimental in the afterglow, curled up against Tom. "Sex in the broomshed, how romantic."  
  
"Actually, it's quite common," Tom murmured absently, brushing Harry's hair out of his eyes. The boy gave an indignant snort and shoved Tom playfully.  
  
"And how would you know?"  
  
"Joselyn Bisset, my first girlfriend," Tom said nostalgically, looking over towards the racks of brooms. "You see that Tinderblast -- third from the right? That was Joselyn's broom. I was in my fifth year at Hogwarts when I started dating her. I was very . . . confused and had absolutely no idea what I wanted from life. I knew that I wasn't like the other students. At the same time, I wanted to be 'normal.' I was having a difficult time embracing the sheer magnitude of my power. During this little identity crisis, I met Joselyn. She was . . . something else. Ravenclaw, sixth year, Prefect."  
  
"Sounds perfect," Harry grumbled.  
  
"Oh, don't get jealous," Tom laughed. "I was young and impulsive . . . Well, I've always been impulsive . . ." He paused for a moment. "Besides, you were dating Cho Chang. So try and make me feel guilty about my childhood sweetheart."  
  
"Childhood sweetheart?" Harry smirked. "You can be so dated sometimes. What ever happened to Joselyn?"  
  
"She became an Auror."  
  
"How fitting."  
  
"I wonder if I'm going to see her again," Tom sighed, stroking Harry's shoulder with an uncanny tenderness. "With a war on the horizon . . . She could be one of the Aurors sent to defend Hogwarts. It would be . . . interesting to see her again."  
  
"Whatever you say," Harry sighed, kissing the corner of Tom's mouth. "Just remember that you belong to me now."  
  
"Of course."  
  
They lay together, sprawled out together in the broomshed -- watching the sun disappear behind the branches of the Forbidden Forest, waiting for a new day to come. 


	24. Alpha

Chapter Twenty-Four -- Alpha  
  
"They attacked Azkaban last night."  
  
Albus sat behind his desk, writing out a document -- swirling flourishes embedded in his letters. He mentioned this event as some sort of side note: "The greenhouse needs some repairs so we'll have to see to that and, oh yes, the Death Eaters attacked Azkaban last night. I almost forgot." No one was expecting Lucius to move this quickly.  
  
However, none of the staff members were particularly shocked.  
  
"He formed an allegiance with the Dementors," Tom sighed, dipping his hand into Dumbledore's jar of sweets. He began tugging celophane off of strawberry hard candy. "He's following my strategy to the letter. Like I said before, he'll move to the mountain areas next."  
  
"The mountain areas," Minerva repeated absently. She looked out the window, trying to see the break of the mountains in the distance. "How much time do we have, Tom?"  
  
"I'll give you two weeks at most," Tom shrugged, popping the candy into his mouth. "Is the Ministry going to be able to defend itself? I certainly wouldn't trust Cornelius Fudge with that operation. The man is a bumbling incompetant."  
  
"Understatement," Minerva mumbled.  
  
"Something will have to be done," Dumbledore said. It was a statement that seemed to act as a prompt for, at this point, Severus Snape rose to his feet. There was a sudden sense of unease in the air. Albus glanced up from his scribbles for a moment, nodded his consent, and Severus bolted out of the room. The door had barely slammed shut when Tom Riddle declared, in a state of absolute disbelief:  
  
"You're sending him back to Lucius?"  
  
"He volunteered his services, Tom. I assure you that no one forced him to return to his duties as a spy. He'll leave immediately and take his place, once again, among the Death Eaters. We'll do our best to ensure his safety."  
  
If Albus noticed that Tom Riddle was glaring at him (in a particularly venemous manner), he did not let on.  
  
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When all around is madness  
  
And there's no safe port in view,  
  
I long to turn my path homeward  
  
To stop awhile with you.  
  
Severus Snape reverently opened the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling out the traditional robes of a Death Eater. They were somewhat musty -- coated in a layer of dust. It had been a while since Severus had donned these robes. And now, he would return . . . to Lucius, the man who adamantly loathed him.  
  
Yes, he could remember the harsh exchanges. Lucius had always been singularly envious of Severus' place -- at Voldemort's side. Severus laughed involuntarily. "Jealous, Lucius?" he thought to himself. "What do you have to be jealous of now? Now that's I'm alone -- confined to the dungeons where no one will have to take any notice. Any notice of the one whom they cast aside . . ."  
  
But still, Severus had no doubt that serving Lucius Malfoy would be a singularly unpleasant experience. Hell, sometimes you had to buck up and take one for the cause, right? Severus sniffed at the thought: "Yes, Severus. At the beginning of this war, you will strike out into the world. And when everything is over, you will once again return home to an empty hearth."  
  
Sometimes, Severus wished that his life wasn't a series of perpetual disappointments. Yes, he knew when to let someone go . . .  
  
"You shouldn't have volunteered."  
  
The words were unexpected and Severus Snape looked up from the pile of robes -- layers of crushed velvet, stained with blood. He brushed his lanky hair out of his eyes to clearly see Tom Riddle standing in front of him.  
  
"I don't want you to leave here, you know. I'll be worried."  
  
Tom stood there, awaiting some sort of confirmation.  
  
"No, you won't," Severus laughed gently, folding the robes and placing them in his suitcase. "You won't even be thinking of me. Don't be ridiculous."  
  
"I'll be worried. I . . ."  
  
The words were said with a kind of desperation this time. It was a desperation that made Severus look up again and examine Tom's eyes closely.  
  
"Do you really?" Severus asked, scornfully. But before he could reproach Tom for his childish behavior, Tom closed the gap between them and those familiar lips were upon his.  
  
He could practically hear Tom whisper: "Hush. I will stop your tongue."  
  
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"Promise me that you'll come back safely," Tom whispered, clinging to every inch of Severus' flesh. Tom always had that annoying habit of trying to claim every bit of you for himself. He wants to get inside you -- beyond the flesh and the muscle, beyond the sweat and the blood. He wants to somehow take two separate entities and turn them into one.  
  
"I can't promise anything," Severus replied, his tone slightly frigid. "It's not my place to promise anything -- especially not to you, Tom."  
  
"Promise me that you'll come back safely."  
  
"For what? To be cast down and forgotten again? Tell me, what do I have to return to?" Severus began to untangle the mass of intertwined limbs. "You? No, you're too preoccupied with Harry Potter. Oh, I'm not resentful. I know when it's time to let someone go and I had my day. I'm not asking for you back or anything."  
  
Severus paused for a moment, trying to sort out the jumble of emotions rising in the pit of his stomach.  
  
"But why do you have to come back into my life? Why can't you just leave me be in peace?"  
  
"You have to come back," Tom proclaimed steadfastly -- completely ignoring all of Severus' hopeless questions.  
  
"The universe won't do your bidding, my Lord," Severus smirked. He tugged the corner of the sheet off the bed, wrapping it around his lower body. "Somewhere out there" -- Severus motioned towards the ceiling -- "there's a force more powerful than you. More powerful than any of us."  
  
Tom leaned forward and pressed his lips against Severus' shoulder blade.  
  
"Are you referring to God?" Tom asked, half-curious.  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
Tom leaned in to whisper in Severus' ear.  
  
"I am God."  
  
In vain to search for order,  
  
In vain to search for truth,  
  
But these things can still be given.  
  
Our love has shown me proof.  
  
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1996  
  
And the war has begun.  
  
Author's Note: And that's the end of the second installment in the trilogy 


End file.
